The Warrior Chronicles
by AniJen21
Summary: The story of a young warrior's struggle to find love, acceptance, and purpose in an unforgiving war. A sprawling, action-packed epic that spans the galaxy, investigating issues of Andalite and Yeerk class, gender, and race. AU, lots of OCs.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Something had changed.

The highest branches of the trees over my head undulated, provoked by some massive quantity of energy. A searing mirage disturbed the image of the full moon. Moments later, a rush of heat followed a rumble of impact. My stalk eyes registered a subtle change in lighting about half a mile away. A bluish, unearthly explosion. Tremors rippled from the northeast. Instinct turned me in that direction.

Combat instructors stress deep concentration on the natural world. _Note the taste of air_, they say, _the soft, transient hum that radiates from the living, the incessant microcosmic changes caused by infinite influences_. That rush of heat had changed the world. I hadn't felt that rush of heat since my brother had come home to visit for the first time. It was heat that did not dissipate or spread, heat that stabbed and penetrated. Heat you could feel in your gut. In your brain. In your hearts.

It was an Andalite vessel.

I started running. My hooves pounded into the damp, living Earth and I tore across the forest. Heat enveloped my body, and sweat poured from my glands to counteract it. I ran as fast as I could, and soon there was a bright light, a hissing noise, and the smell of industrial fire.

A tunnel of flame had been cut through the trees, a thick half-pipe of smoke and fire descending through the forest at a shallow angle to the ground. A long, tilled mess of tree trunks, earth, branches, and smoke led a path straight to the ovoid, stunningly bright ship, obvious against the inky night. Its cloak must have been disabled upon impact. A curved shredder emerged from the back, torn and hanging by a single sheath of hull. Volatile, blue ammunition fuel oozed out, like from a wound. It was fatter than most fighters I had seen, unfamiliar and scorched but still mine.

I approached quickly over the lumpy, jagged earth, bounding gracelessly over shredded trees and smoldering branches. I touched the ship's white surface—cool despite the atmospheric entry—and ran my hand along the smooth hull until a thin, bright door line appeared. My hand sunk into the surface, an engineered alloy which felt soft like polyurethane foam. The ship scanned me, verifying my species identity. The plane of the door began to sink into the ship, receding into the bright outline in microscopic layers as thin as liquid. A moment before I could enter, the door appeared as a tissue-thin, translucent membrane within which steam and sparks churned.

I peered inside the ship, but scorching exhaust blinded me and forced me to shield my eyes. I pressed my hoof into the inclined ground, tasting Andalite grass for the first time in months. It was singed, and too warm to taste right, but it was soft and moist. The perpetual indigestion I had earned from fibrous Earth grass melted away, and for just a moment, I was home.

Lost in nostalgia, I almost forgot where I was and what I was doing, but then I heard something. A warm, living picture emerged in my mind. (Die...) It said. The picture was fuzzy at first, but sharpened as I focused, like I was turning some psychic knob on an invisible television set. It was the homeworld. A faceless man stood, holding a young girl's hand at sunset, while they watched someone burn in a pagan Andalite funeral. It was an antiquated ritual that was supposed to clear away all the poisonous emotions, but it never worked, and sadness still permeated the air, as thick as the steam. It submerged me, strangled me, and the grass tasted bland.

I climbed in further. The steam began to clear, and I started to piece together the layout of the ship. It was tipped at a frightening angle, a pool of blood collecting at the base of the door. I closed my hooves and proceeded, approaching its origin, trying to avoid it, but it was everywhere. I brushed my hand in front of my face, impatient with the atmosphere, and then I saw him.

A man. A grown warrior, thrown hooves over eyes, arm lodged behind his head, flank hanging over his broken body, crippled at the waist. His tail had snapped off, like the shredder of the ship, twitching with overloaded neurons, the source of most of the blood. He was smiling.

He was like light interrupted by a prism, bent and shattered. It was clear, even though his eyes were open, that he was dead.

I walked over to his body to investigate, to see if I could ascertain his time of death. It must have been recent, which meant perhaps he died upon impact—not before, suffocated by space or undone by weapon. Though the ship was designed for a single occupant, I could not abandon the hope that—

Then I saw it. Out of the corner of a stalk eye, a glimpse of something alive.

A hand.

I ducked beneath the billowing steam, realizing only now that it had cloaked a doorway to a second room. I hurried over, gripped the door frame, and peered behind the corner.

There was a girl.

She wasn't dead.

Her clumped fur was dark and shiny with blood, and she heaved in tainted air with broken lungs, splayed on the ground, edges of shattered bones ripping up through her flesh. But she wasn't dead. Her eyes were open, and they turned to me.

We made eye contact, but it didn't last long. She looked away, up at the holographic ceiling, still blanketed by smoke. I stepped closer to her, realizing that the closer I got, the stronger the images in my mind became. Now that she had noticed me, they were changing.

She was drinking water, and caught her reflection in the small pool. This was a memory from long ago; she was no more than a child. She inspected the face that shivered on the meniscus, and stroked the curves of flesh and bone that comprised her visage. She hadn't seen herself in a while, hadn't noticed that her face had lost its childish softness, hadn't noticed the sharp, frightening power that flashed behind her eyes. She ran her finger along the length of her jaw. Something made her smile. Suddenly, a large, masculine hand descended from behind her and grasped her shoulder. She turned a stalk eye to view his face. He was tall and powerful, and his dark eyes were displeased. She shrank beneath him.

The image faded, and I knelt over her body, overcome enough by our connection to ignore custom and touch her, investigate the curves that she had in her memory. Her face was sheathed in sweat and blood, and her body was mangled, but beneath all of that physical horror, a faint beauty shone through. I looked into her desperate, roving eyes. Her breath was ragged and panicking, sending sparks of blood from her nostrils, but then she acknowledged me, and she calmed down.

Her eyes focused on mine without roving or flinching. They fastened, and she held my gaze firmly in hers, without shame. I fell right through it, into her pain and terror and confusion, into her mind. I saw past the irises, past the pupils, past all of the sparkling flesh. Something significant and frightening happened. I lost myself in her, in that labyrinthine web of chaotic thought, and I was her again, looking into the face of an old man with a stern, scarred face. I wanted him to love me, but he was too angry with what I had done.

She was supposed to call him Sir, but as she reached toward me, eyes honest and terrified, I heard the gentle, trembling voice say, (Father...)

Then they slipped, rolling away, and she lost consciousness.

I wrapped my arms around her, hoisted her onto my back, and pulled her as carefully as I could from the wreckage. I realized I could not help her with the limited tools I had back at the scoop, so I grabbed a few things from the ship before disembarking. I found a thermal blanket, a Z-Space communicator, and most importantly, a first-aid kit with medical technology thousands of years more advanced than the primitive tools of Earth. As soon as we were far enough away, I grabbed the Shredder out of the girl's utility belt, set the dial to maximum, and destroyed the ship.

The blast was more contained than I predicted, which was an unexpected serendipity. I decided to risk exposing the crash site immediately rather than allowing the Yeerks to stumble upon it during some random sweep of the forest. I did my best to cover my trail as I carried her, but I realized that with this new information, the Yeerks would probably find my home within the week.

But I would worry about that later.

For now I had to save the girl.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Here we go.**

**I don't like author's notes, and I only plan on making one (but plans were made to be foiled), so I want to say everything that I think needs to be said. If I think of anything I want to add, I'll add it here with an ETA date.**

**First of all, this is going to be a long haul. This is a very long story that's going to take some serious time to post. However, if you decide to invest the time and energy into reading it, I'm not going to leave you hanging three-quarters of the way through. I'm going to finish this. That is a promise. I'm not giving up on it. That's happened enough times with it already, and I've decided since then that I hate leaving projects unfinished.**

**Second of all, I guess, a little history: the premise of this story comes from when I was but a wee proto-nerd, about ten years ago, and made up characters online with a bunch of other proto-nerd friends, including an author on this very site, Terenia. Incidentally, this fic is dedicated to her, since she gave me the kick in the pants to write it. If you've read her fic, _Playing War: The Traitor_, you will notice some similarities. If you haven't read it, you should. There isn't any real continuity between the two—we both took our characters and created our own back-stories, but they are definitely related. I don't want to confuse anyone, so don't expect that this will answer completely to her fic, or that hers will answer to mine. They're both independent stories.**

**I plan on updating about once a week. Of course, real life has a nasty tendency to interfere with our favorite hobbies, so I'm not promising anything as far as time frame. To reiterate, however, I do promise to finish it. It may take upwards of a year, or maybe more, but I will post the whole thing in its entirety before I move on to whatever is next.**

**I think that's it. If you have any questions, shoot me a PM. As always, I love reviews, even if you just want to insult me. I'm a sucker for any kind of feedback, but I think everyone would agree that well thought-out concrit gets the most bang for its buck. But don't feel obligated or anything. At the very least, I hope you enjoy!**

**ETA 11/8/10: lol wow. I tried to take care of some dividers that ffnet deleted a few months ago, partly because they make later chapters clearer and partly just to see if I could, and I mistakenly added one of the edited chapters as an additional chapter, sending out an e-mail to everyone on alert and bumping this back up to the top of the archive. As trollishly good a way that is to get additional readers/interest, I DID NOT MEAN TO DO IT and I'm sorry if I got your hopes up for nothing.**

**I guess I should take this as an opportunity to update you all on what's going on with this-I haven't started writing the sequel yet. I'm kind of being eaten alive by the last chapter of Earth Diary right now, and once I finish that I want to focus a little more on screenwriting, so I'm not sure when/if it's going to happen. I have been putting some thought into how the plot would work, though, so there's a better-than-not chance I'll just need to fumigate the plot bunnies and write the damn thing at some point in the future.**

**If this is your first time clicking this link, I do hope you enjoy it, and for everyone else...I feel like an idiot. Mea culpa.  
**


	2. Chapter One: Jennor

Chapter One

Eighteen Years Earlier

Jennor-Elacable-Barees

The brighter of the brother suns of Andal was just rising as I pranced around our scoop like a foal, waiting for my Father, Warrior Sofor-Elacable-Halladran, to wake up.

I had felt anticipation radiating from him the night before, and as much as I attempted to contain my excitement, just as I had been instructed, I found it nearly impossible. He always maintained absolute restraint, and I rarely felt any tinge of emotion or feeling of any kind come from him at all. Notable exceptions were my first birthday when the sun set, and when my eyes had finally changed color.

I had no idea what this meant—when I first felt it, I got nervous, because I assumed the only thing my father could anticipate would be malevolent. Perhaps he was just apprehensive about my first day of formal training, but that did not explain why this anticipation had appeared so suddenly and so late. As the night wore on, I realized he was planning something. Something good. Something that might relate directly to me.

By the dawn's twilight, I had decided that his anticipation was something _for _me—a gift, something wonderful and mysterious, something which would create a new emotion in me, one I had never felt before—so for the past couple of hours I had been discreetly searching every hidden nook and cranny under the white canvas awning of our scoop, looking for any hints or signs. At first, I was silent, carefully prying away the leathery flaps of floor, slowly opening creaky cabinets, exploring hidden regions without disturbing them.

Of course, as the morning drew on and my father still had not awoken, I became careless, at one point even knocking a keepsake Hork-Bajir blade from my father's days in the war onto the floor, hoping now less to find the gift and more that I might accidentally wake him up.

Finally, as the bottom of the Elder sun crept over the horizon, and I was distracting myself by scuffing a small hole in the ground with my hoof, my father's warm hand descended onto my shoulder.

(Good morning,) he said in his low, distant, comforting voice. (You moved my blade, didn't you?)

I was prepared for this question, and responded: (I apologize, Father. I was only admiring its size.)

He lifted his hand off of my shoulder, and said, (Indeed. And remember, Jennor, do not address me so informally.)

(Yes, sir,) I whispered.

Shortly after, now convinced I had assumed incorrectly, Father and I headed out to feed. He took to multitasking, since he was not fond of wasting time. So "feeding" consisted of sprinting with all of our might through the gentle slopes of our community. We filled up fast, and reached the daily exercise requirement quickly, though the walk home was usually accompanied by thigh cramps and heaving diaphragms. We made our way up and down the hills of Andal, the pet name for the homeworld.

Terraforming that had taken place thousands of years ago made Andal a very predictable, manufactured planet. Our industrial revolution had greatly altered our planet's climate patterns, and tornados, blizzards, and wind storms became costly dangers to all Andalite herds. The Electorate had called a special council of climatologists to redesign the planet and account for the new weather patterns. They had recommended the changes we now witnessed.

The poles of the globe were now home to inhospitable mountain ranges, engineered so that the water which normally irrigated the planet in underground springs would not evaporate. The highest peaks of the mountains reached far outside of the atmosphere, while the equator was flat and moist—perfectly suitable for any Andalite. Despite Father's service in the war, we did not have the honored status to live on the flat, opulent equator, so instead we lived in the northern hemisphere at the very base of the mountain range. We could see their jagged silhouettes from our scoop. I thought they were beautiful, but Father thought they were a disgrace. He called them the gates of hell, an especially frightening moniker since most Andalites considered any speculation about death unnecessary and childish.

We continued trotting back to the scoop as I glanced at my favorite mountain. It was a huge monolith that extended far up, so far that I could see the point where the stable moisture in the air draped off of it like a translucent shroud. It was curved, like a giant tail blade, sharp and elegant. Though much of the history about the Great Terraforming had been lost, I was sure that the engineers had designed it that way.

I wiped my brow as we came upon our scoop, and, as always, I allowed my Father to enter first. However, this time, he instructed me to remain outside while he fetched something.

My primary heart leaped into my abdomen. A new emotion emerged within me, something strange, poisonous, and strong. It was unfulfilled, but yearning, powerful and uncomfortable. I wanted it to be over, and I never wanted to let it go. It was like sunlight that burned my shoulders—painful and destructive, but offering such a distinct relief that I could never wish it away. It stretched time, thinned patience, broke concentration. Perhaps this was what people called "hope."

The seconds that it took my father to search inside the scoop ran for what felt like years. Thoughts and desires I never allowed myself plowed through my head and I even felt a creek of sweat crawl down my temple. My body was tense, my mind racing. I longed for some sort of release, bad or good, it didn't matter—

(Jennor.) Father's voice broke the brittle silence and he stepped out into the sunlight. (I have something for you.)

The tension ravishing my body melted away, and I slouched in supreme relief, even though I had been instructed countless times not to. Before I could even realize what was happening, I felt my fragile hearts splinter, the chest pains of Andalite emotional catharsis, and I thought I would cry, even though that is a thing Andalites rarely accomplish.

He stepped closer to me, and held out the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was a utility belt—a gorgeous, worn, leather utility belt of the highest quality, each pocket plush with a soft fur that I could not identify, but my fingertips had never felt a lovelier substance. I ran them over everything, wanting each of my senses to absorb the belt fully, wanting to drink it in as furiously as someone lost in a desert for weeks. I leaned into that woody smell, and as I did, one of my fingertips grazed the top of my father's hand.

I felt him jerk back suddenly, and I returned to cold, angular reality I was used to. I stood back, and up straight, and waited for the customary: (Careful, Jennor. Don't be so eager when your hands are so cold. You don't want to get yourself hurt.)

(I apologize, Father,) I said for the second time that morning.

But then something even more unexpected happened. My father's expression melted into a smile, and he leaned in close to me. I would have been frightened if not for that smile, that strange smile that warped the long, jagged scar running under his left eye to his right mandible. It softened his hard skin in a way that no ointment ever could. He wrapped the belt around my tiny waist, and he clasped it closed. It hung heavily off of my infantile hips. But it felt warm, and as he pulled away I felt a great shiver run down my chest.

(Jennor, what you have there is meaningless. You need something to fill it with.) From behind his back he pulled out the one item from the war that he never let me touch, never even let me gaze upon—his Shredder.

I gasped as he brought it forward for me to hold. I wrapped my cold fingers around the rubber handle, knowing the risk both of misfire and accidentally grazing his hands. I checked the safety, and admired its various controls, buttons, dials and read-outs, pinching the small pouch of volatile fuel that emerged from its internal workings like an exposed eye. It was light and airy, and I tested the resistance of the trigger, pointing the gun into the ground—it was both perfectly difficult and easy to discharge. There were flaws in its design, and it showed the wear and tear my father had submitted to it over the years—chipped metal, revealing the dull fiberglass-composite underneath, dents and bruises that gave it the impression of an old fruit. But it was still perfect—each of those chips and dents and imperfections only made it lovelier and more perfect, now that it was a legacy, now that my father and I were inexorably linked by this flawed, vicious device.

I carefully placed the Shredder into the holster, and it fit nicely into its own groove. I paused for a moment, overcome with emotion, and did something unforgivable. Before I could stop myself, I flung my arms around his waist, risking a stern reprimand, risking him revoking the gift entirely. But to my utter astonishment, he did not recede; he did not peel away my eager arms. His arms settled around me. He cradled my small head with one oversized hand and stroked the fur on my upper ribs tenderly with the other. Never had I felt such happiness, and even though I was already predicting the regret that would follow, since I knew even then that another moment like this might never come, I was fully saturated with a feeling I could not name, a feeling I didn't want to tarnish with the crude labeling of language. It was perfection.

A few hours later, the Elder sun now high overhead, followed shortly by his younger brother, Father and I made our way to our community's training facility, named for the hero of Sector 32 WD-38402-8, who had sacrificed himself in a heroic attempt to destroy the main Yeerk pool facility on the planet. It was arguable that Frahola, who received a lovely obituary in the _Warrior Chronicles_, had much more success in death than he ever did in life.

The training facility itself was a truly remarkable feat, both of aesthetics and engineering. To keep its secrets hidden from view, it was constructed in one of the larger valleys of the incessant hills, covered by a massive deflector force field, shielded from the sometimes-treacherous rays of the suns and any rare gust of wind that would plague its students. It consisted of a few large scoops, all nestled together in a semi-circle, where I noticed a multitude of people mingling from my bird's-eye view atop the summit of the rise that shielded it. A large sand pit adorned its middle, the soft surface perfect for tail-to-tail training. About a half kilometer away, reinforced rubber targets, slightly bleached by their constant bombardment by Shredder beams, were all lined up like convicts awaiting the firing squad. A long track ran around the circumference of the place—a single white line with tic marks every half kilometer or so, noting distance for those training for endurance. And finally, a small pit, where all the grass had been removed, and water had been added, fenced off carefully by a humming laser, lay unceremoniously off to the side, where the most unfortunate of trainees would practice their hoofwork. Hoofwork training was universally the most disliked of all the disciplines, because falling down a couple of times in the mud pit was inevitable, and Andalites hate getting dirty.

(Are you ready?) My father asked. I suddenly realized that standing atop this hill, I was safe from any of the violent events below. I had a sudden, terrible feeling rise up my neck and into my face, like something dreadful was going to happen if I went down. But this was only fear. Average fear. Unworthy fear. It would not invade me. I had become immune. I suppressed it, and replied, (As always.)

My father led me down, and we walked up to one of the registration scoops. There were fathers with their women, registering sons who towered over me. Some stalk eyes seemed to wander my way, impressed that a female so young would be joining them in training. My father handed in the registration disk to a young man who looked rather bored. I sympathized, since I assumed this position was a requirement before fighting in the real war, and for most warriors, any time spent away from combat is wasted.

I felt the uncomfortable feeling crawl up my neck again. I couldn't immediately pinpoint why, but then a tall, good-looking man with excellent posture and poise emerged from the dark recesses of the scoop. His dark purple fur was smooth, almost metallic, sheening in the sunlight, his hooves were sharp and shiny. His face was long and angular, his arms thick with ropy muscles, his chest broad and puffed, his stalk eyes wafting confidently above his head.

Overall, he looked incredibly healthy, yet somehow disfigured. There was something twisted within him, something angry and hurt, something that had been damaged for a very long time and still festered with infection. You couldn't see it with your naked eye; he hid it too well. That's what made it so glaringly obvious to me. He was so confident, and so smug, and so tall and handsome that it made him look perverted and deformed.

He didn't look too old. Maybe four or five cycles, so just about old enough to start a family of his own, yet he managed to retain his youthful confidence while exuding a wizened entitlement. He stepped slowly, methodically, as if every step he took had some deeper, unfathomable meaning. His stalk eyes swiveled around slowly—he was cautious, but in the most confident way possible. I felt arrogance and pride ooze from him as severely as my father's anticipation had that morning. His eyes were dark, almost black, but I squinted my own to see that they were very darkly blue, like a midnight with no stars. He smiled strangely upon seeing me.

(Ah, Sofor-Elacable-Haladran, how wonderful it is to see you again, no?) he said in a voice so thick with sarcasm and insincerity that I wondered what made him think it sounded acceptable at all.

(Tuxebi,) Father replied curtly. I looked up at him to see his eyes narrowed dangerously. His eyes were the only indicator of his emotional state. I couldn't feel anything coming from him at all.

(And this must be...) he said, moving all four of his eyes on me. It was an unnatural, obscene gesture, and it weighed me down in shame. I looked away. (Jennor-Elacable-Barees. Ah yes. Rather brave giving her your middle name, no?) I felt another wave of arrogance, slimy like oil, wash over me, and I took a small step backwards.

(Are we registered?) Father asked impatiently. (Who is she training with?)

(Well let's see,) Tuxebi replied in a sing-song voice that made me squirm. (It seems she is...ah, wait...yes, she is in my group this term.)

(No,) my father growled, and deep, unexpected rage burned within him before he covered it up again. (No. I will not allow that. Change it now.)

(Ah, Sofor, always panicking. So nervous all of the time. You must learn to calm down. Besides, I'm not sure you're in any position to be giving orders, considering you have not yet paid for this term in full, no?)

(I have not yet exceeded the due dates for the credits, and I—)

(Besides,) Tuxebi interrupted, his voice soft, yet powerful enough to stop my father, (what professional reason could you possibly have to request that your daughter be trained with someone else? Professionally, I have transgressed you in no way, and have committed no actions that could possibly warrant such a demand.)

My father knew he was defeated, but he did something unexpected, and smiled. (Very well, Tuxebi. _Professionally_, I expect you to treat my daughter with every respect and courtesy that you would offer any cadet, and if I see or hear one thing that leads me even to fancy otherwise, I will skip the ordinary diplomatic channels and come straight for you. No?)

Tuxebi smiled back, and nodded courteously. (Perhaps someday we shall forget our feud, old friend.)

Father's smile faded, and he grabbed me under the arm and pulled me away.

(Listen to me very carefully, Jennor, and listen well. No doubt you sensed some tension between me and that man?)

His grip was tight, and he was walking faster than I could, but I responded, (Yes, Father, but I—)

(Sir, Jennor. Sir.)

(Yes, sir, I did, but I don't understand what it was—)

(You don't need to understand, Jennor.) We stopped about 50 meters away from the registration scoop, and my father turned to face me. (If he does anything out of the ordinary, anything that is different from what he does to the other cadets, I want you to tell me. I don't care what he says to you, Jennor. He may order you to keep it a secret, he may threaten to hurt you. You need to know, right now, that he cannot harm you. Do you understand?)

I found his ultimatum incoherent and frightful. But I looked up to him and tried to smile. (Yes, sir. I understand.)

(Good,) my father responded. (Now, go make me proud, my little _aristh_.)

Father released me from his steel grip and turned to leave. He kept his right stalk eye on me for about twenty paces, and I watched it slowly descend from view. I had never been away from him before, and I felt emptiness replace any self-respect or confidence I had somehow managed to gain under his protection. I took a deep breath, and tried to convince myself again that I was an excellent fighter, and more than deserving to train with these older boys, whose glances of curiosity had changed into derisive jeers since Father had left. They had seen my size and my youth but they hadn't yet noticed my weapon.

They would not be jeering if they had.

After a few minutes of idle waiting, the man my father called "Tuxebi" called off about six names. My name was last, and he uttered it with a sort of strange fascination, linking his left stalk eye to me and holding the gaze. We followed him out onto the training field, about thirty meters away from the sand pit, where a group of older trainees were practicing rudimentary defensive techniques Father had taught to me months ago.

The constant attention from Tuxebi, in addition to the revelation that my skills were already far ahead of where I would be starting, eased the tension that had built in my chest, and I felt a lot taller and stronger.

(Line up,) Tuxebi suddenly said in a voice I had never heard before, a voice so hard and cold and colorless that it took me a moment to comprehend. The other boys seemed shocked by it as well, but after a short moment of confusion, we obeyed the order.

(Welcome to Frahola's training facility,) he said, using the inorganic voice again. (You will call me "Trainer." For two years, you will be completely bound to my authority, and if you obey every command and piece of advice I choose to grant you, you will improve. Whether or not you become warriors is entirely up to you. We will rank you, by talent, by effectiveness, by potential usefulness. If you are extremely lucky, we will recommend you for admittance into Officer's Training. At the equatorial facility.)

A murmur of thought-speech. Excitement, fear, the troublesome annoyance of hope that was not my own, the kind that spawned dangerous competitiveness.

(Of course, that is a favor we grant very few of our cadets. You are all lousy genetic scum, the leftovers of our grand race. I tell you this not to insult you. It is a truth you'd be best to accept as early as possible. Everything is working against you. Even more for one of you.)

I felt the crawling sensation in my neck again. His eye crept over my body, and my face was hot from embarrassment. After a few moments of discomfort, his gaze reached its final destination—the tip of my tail, from which erupted a long, curved, hard, iridescent scythe, shining brightly in the suns. His eye widened slightly, and I knew why. It was the one consistent compliment my father gave me. The one thing that set me apart.

It was not ordinary.

Andalite females are physically unsuited for war. There is no guilt about this segregation on a normally gender-blind world. Though they are quick and agile, they are small and weak, with tail blades resembling stubby little scalpels: tail blades that could pick and stab, but not slice. Not decapitate. Not impale. It didn't matter, of course, now that wars were distance affairs, fought with technology rather than biology, and a small faction of females who desired to fight existed. But I was apart from them. I was female, granted the gifts of my brothers while retaining the advantages of my sisters. I was female, just as dangerous and deadly as a male. I was not ordinary.

It had been a burden for a lot longer than it had been an asset. For the first year and a half of my life, it was too heavy to carry upright, too long and awkward to act as an effective defense. Long before I was a year old, however, my Father taught me twitching exercises designed to strengthen my weak muscles. They were uncomfortable at first, but after enough time, they became a part of my routine. After a month, it felt strange not doing them. And after a little longer, I began to see results. The muscles that outlined my back and haunches were irregularly large, but I could hold my tail blade up as easily as anyone now. And I was just as graceful with it as any other _aristh_.

The discovery of this fortunate deformity put a pause into Trainer's introductory speech, and I sensed that the other five trainees had felt the pause and were searching for its source. Their eyes, which had previously been sheathed in a kind of superior entitlement due to their size and age, widened suddenly as they met what Trainer had discovered. I expected them to be afraid and impressed. But instead, I felt sudden shivers of disgust and revulsion. I was not ordinary. It had not occurred to me before that moment that it might be a bad thing.

(Jennor,) Trainer said suddenly, and I snapped out of my sudden self-doubt, stepped forward, and responded, (Yes, sir?)

(I wondered what foolishness had caused your father to enroll you so early. You're an infant next to these boys.)

I felt a pang of shame, but I didn't know why. I should have defended his honor. I was too afraid.

I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing, and looked at the boys again. They started smiling and snickering, expecting something to happen that would return them to their undue entitlement.

(Tell me what you know, Jennor,) He said, his voice returned to the softer, less militant version I was used to, though he was still addressing everyone. (What do you think you have learned to justify your presence here?)

I inhaled deeply, organizing my thoughts through my swampy insecurity. (My father has been training me in our scoop for almost two years,) I responded slowly, letting my words sweep over the group, still convinced I could show them I was worthy. (He has experience both as a warrior and a trainer, and has taught me primary, secondary, and some tertiary tail-fighting techniques. He has instructed me in the use of a Shredder-weapon, though I have not yet had the opportunity to handle one. He has also given me some lessons in reconnaissance methods and strategy.)

I was met with scowls from my classmates and another curious smile from Trainer. (Reconnaissance methods, is that what he told you they were?) His voice was now directed solely at me, and once again, I got a strange, crawling feeling in my neck. (No doubt you will be very skilled at that, thanks solely to your mother.)

Suddenly my face exploded in heat, and I turned to stare up at him in shock. I had no mother!

Taking my sudden distraction as his cue, Trainer planted his hind leg firmly in the ground and lifted his tail high above his shoulders, preparing to strike. Though he executed his attack perfectly, I sensed where he was aiming and moved my tail there to intercept. Our tail blades met with a satisfying crash that shook me to my hooves, my tail barely able to absorb the percussive shock. My adrenal glands now in full production, I readied myself for battle, but the split-second of distraction still gave him the advantage. Using the momentum from our collision to reposition himself, he flung his tail blade in a small circle, ducking it silently under my tail. I reached down to try to stop it, but he was too fast.

I felt a sudden splash of pain run across my torso, and then, for a moment, nothing. Nothing but the pale, cold shock of injury. Then the blood came. It came, and it ran down my legs onto the ground in long, stringy rivulets, filling expanding puddles. I was not breathing, and I could not start again. Dread filled me, replacing the lost volume of blood.

(Tertiary tail-fighting techniques,) Trainer repeated, returning to the cold voice again, addressing us all. (You can learn all that you want, little _aristh_, but unless you are prepared at all times, it is as meaningless as your superfluously large blade.)

His stalk eye's gaze finally dropped me, and he turned to lead the rest of the trainees away.


	3. Chapter Two: The Empress

Chapter Two

The Empress

I reviewed my work. A mutilated, heaving sack of sweat and muscle writhed before me. I sighed in regret. My vision had not been realized. This was supposed to take much longer. My project was not as strong as I had predicted. He was almost done. But I was just getting started.

"Do you still believe your incessant lies are convincing?" I asked. "I grow impatient. I would be perfectly content leaving this room, eating some preserved arboreal cellulose, and spending the rest of my day recuperating from this arduous chore. Don't you want that, too?"

Pale green blood leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes. He was sobbing. He was more than hurt.

"Sub-Visser, what do you think?" I turned to my personal assistant, Sub-Visser Twenty-Four, known during his off-hours as Nagrit 767. He grinned playfully.

"I think it's a shame that such vital information is so difficult to exhume."

"Exhume," I said with a smile and a breathy laugh. "What an apt word."

I balled my Hork-Bajir hand into a fist and flung it into my project's face. His skin, swollen with blood, had lost its elasticity and molded to the shape of my hand. He moaned and sputtered, and his head rolled back in surrender. A flat tooth rolled out of his mouth and rattled on the floor.

"I just..." he began.

It's an amateur mistake to lean in and listen when torture subjects begin to speak. The power dynamic is fragile, easy to surrender. You have to remain in charge. I walked calmly over to the sink and washed his blood and spongy skin off of my hands. I could feel his eyes bore into the back of my skull, desperate for mercy, a gift I was unwilling to grant.

"Sub-Visser, did you hear something? A truthful confession, perhaps?" I dried my hands with a towel and threw it in a pile of them that was stained with green blood and yellow sweat.

"Nothing like that. Just a wisp of a coward's begging, I think."

"Yes, I agree." I grabbed a long, metal instrument, ending in two prongs and a screw connected to a hand crank. I turned around to face my project again.

"Wait, please! I'll tell you, I've had enough."

I stood there cranking the screw with a wild menace in my eyes, approaching slowly. My subject watched me, blood dripping from his beak like a melting icicle.

"You do not need my permission to confess, scum," I hissed as I raised my weapon and held it inches from his eye.

"It was Esplin. Esplin told me to take the fall for him. I couldn't refuse, he was my superior! After that debacle on the Taxxon moon, I couldn't just...I'm sorry. Please don't kill me. Please let me go. Please."

"Esplin," I groaned. My project had corroborated what I already knew. That's really the only practical interrogative method of torture. You've got to have information already in mind that you want double-checked. People will tell you anything to ease the pain, and in the throes of extreme suffering, truth and lie become indistinguishable. It can get uncomfortable, both for you and them, when they start telling you what they think you want to hear. Sometimes it is not what you'd expect.

Interrogation, of course, is not the only practical application of torture.

I dropped the instrument. Nagrit opened the door and we both shuffled out, leaving my project tied, swollen, and whimpering.

I closed the door and turned to him.

"That fool continues to cover his tracks, and only with enough skill to appease the Council." I huffed, shoving my sticky hands together and cracking my knuckles. "I do not believe this information will be enough to denounce him."

Nagrit sighed. He was in no place to voice his opinions. Not on record, anyway. But he understood my frustration. And with a subtle narrowing of his eyes, he showed that he agreed.

Nagrit had been my assistant for almost ten years. I'd been given the privilege to choose an assistant when I'd been promoted to the rank of Visser Sixteen. I chose quickly, some speculated carelessly, but his file impressed me immediately. He was a low Sub-Visser, and though I was confused as to why he did not head a command of his own, a quick glance at his record revealed that he assisted a number of Vissers before me, each of whom had dishonorably reassigned him. I did not immediately understand why. He was an intelligent, creative leader with good work ethic, a powerful charm, and a strong set of values, and he'd made no irredeemable mistakes that I could see.

After a few months, the reason became clear. He did not bear a normal Yeerk personality. Yeerk leaders are defined by their viciousness, the cold, glassy ruthlessness and apathy behind their determined eyes. Nagrit did not have that. He never broke orders, and at the beginning, never contradicted me, no matter how cold or wrong I was when I spoke. But he moved with a sort of warmth and organic passion, a foreign empathy and mercy. It gave me a heavy sense of guilt and unworthiness. It could get cumbersome. I could understand how a Visser would want not to be around that.

But Nagrit and I quickly developed an efficient rapport, and despite his strange mannerisms, including the eyebrows that furrowed when I ordered him to fire upon an Andalite vessel, or the involuntary twitch of dread when I told him that we'd procured a new prisoner to break, I considered him a trusted advisor. His abnormality was only outmatched by his loyalty and intelligence, and once our trust had been established, I encouraged him to contradict me when he needed to, and to offer alternative solutions even after I'd made up my mind. In some ways, he had become my conscience. Though most Yeerks consider this a taxing commodity, it was one I knew I could neither lead nor live without.

He was a good assistant, adjutant, and advisor, but those were not the only functions he served. I could joke with some of the Vissers. And I considered the Council my equals. But perhaps, in my distant and revered position, Nagrit was closest thing I had to a friend.

"Visser Eleven has done the impossible, sir. Never forget that fact."

Nagrit was right, but I was not pleased. More than once, Esplin had disappointed in his promises to deliver intelligence and results. But it was difficult to deny the impact his presence had: a symbolic representation of our mounting victories over the Andalites in the form of one of their most infamous War-Princes imprisoned in his own body.

I hated him.

He was a cheater. Promoted through Yeerk hierarchy not due to his leadership skills or strategic genius. He was a novelty. A farce. He was not an effective general, not a shrewd strategist. He wasted all of his energy on that selfish vision, and what good had it ultimately done the Empire?

"Besides stroking our own egos, how can one infested Andalite make a difference?" I scoffed rhetorically to Nagrit. He shrugged indifferently. Though Nagrit voiced his disagreement on a few issues, he never disagreed with me about this.

Not about Esplin.

"What course are you going to seek?" He asked.

"I will speak with the rest of the Council. Unfortunately, they do not share our distaste."

He made an apologetic, comforting face. "I'll be here when you're finished."

"Thank you, Sub-Visser."

I walked down the hall, past an echoey dropshaft, and entered the conference room, where the rest of the Council was already waiting for me. We rarely met on the same ship all at once, but a great deal of our forces had concentrated on this sector of the galaxy, and I thought it prudent to check up in person despite the inherent danger involved.

We were relaxed, or at least, as relaxed as the deified, mythic leaders of the Yeerk Empire could be. We did not wear our ceremonial robes, or hover in our neutral-gravity bubbles so as to appear intimidating and supernaturally powerful. We gathered in forms that were normal, if perhaps a little more physically fit than most, but even so, I felt a tingle of fear. Addressing the council was always stressful. I always felt like I was defending myself, even when delivering good news.

The Council consisted of four fat Taxxons, seated behind the steaming flesh of some unidentifiable corpse, insufficiently covered by their keratin plating, spewing forth a gust of rancid smell that disgusted my subtle Hork-Bajir nose; five fellow Hork-Bajir, who slouched backwards, bored, using their thick tails as a chair-like support; one elderly Gedd, whose eyes were crusted with cataracts; and two other species I could not identify. One was shorter than the rest, with thin, unadorned, pale skin, and two small, bright eyes. It walked on two legs and seemed both totally vulnerable and worthy among the beasts that surrounded it.

"I have concluded my interrogation of prisoner 2351," I began addressing them. One of the Taxxon's tongues leapt forward in curiosity and hunger. Another Taxxon's red, jelly eyes turned to it lustily.

"What information have you procured?" a Hork-Bajir named Krister 632 asked, bouncing on his tail.

"Our initial suspicions seem to have been correct. The mag-lev incident and subsequent uprising on the Taxxon Homeworld were indeed caused by one Esplin 9466, whom the Council has decided to promote to the rank of Visser Eleven."

I did not regret the observation when I spoke it, nor the acerbic tone with which I delivered it, but it made the small alien's mouth curl triumphantly nonetheless.

"Visser Eleven has already provided us ample information, not only about Andalites, but about this species as well," the being said, gesturing to his own form. I recognized the tone. It was Sessil 542, the overseer of new species acquisitions. Playing with his new discovery. "Do you know about this species, Councilor Eight?"

None of the Councilors were actually given numbers to designate them, except for me. Within the Council, that meant I was in charge. Outside the Council, it was meant to conceal my true identity. It was a system I appreciated for the amount of anonymity it provided me. I was glad not to accept the risk involved with being the face of the Empire. Unfortunately, it meant that the Council was often perceived as a more democratic body than originally intended.

Visser Eleven would already be dead if it weren't for the twelve other Councilors. Or at least seven of them. Five I could convince, I know that. But seven still beats six.

"I have read the dossier you provided," I conceded. "These humans do sound promising."

"Then give Visser Eleven his due. If not for him, we would never have even heard of this species," Vrasst 261, a Taxxon, hissed through large, dripping bites of rotting flesh.

"I doubt that," I muttered. "But very well. Visser Eleven shall remain. But I want him reprimanded for his responsibility in—"

"I disagree," About five of the councilors interrupted.

I sighed in frustration. "Fine. I shall terminate prisoner 2351. He is no longer a suitable host."

I turned to leave the conference room, but Sessil stopped me. "Councilor Eight," he said. "There is one other matter which requires your immediate attention."

"I realize we meet in person infrequently, but perhaps this can wait until our next conference? After all, I am overseeing the infiltration of the Taxxon insurgency, and I would greatly appreciate—"

"That task has been reassigned," he said, waving his hand. "We have received information about a new threat which requires your special brand of expertise."

"What information? From where?" I knew this question had no answer, as the Council periodically received information from an anonymous source, somewhere outside the galaxy, which proved always to be correct and beneficial. I had never been explicitly addressed in these messages. I felt my throat clench shut as I realized my time had finally come.

"The file has been downloaded to your Blade Ship's computer. View it at your leisure. You are charged with the task therein. It should be no problem given your talent for breaking down the structure of an individual, leaving them a bloody, mangled mess."

The Council chuckled at my expense. I allowed them. After all, the reason for their amusement was that I was not a conventional Empress. At the beginning of the war, the Emperor was the head military leader, a general of sorts that rallied all Yeerks and retained a great deal of executive power. Before the war, however, whatever military decisions necessary were left in the hands of the tribe leaders, the group of mediocre power that evolved into the Vissers. I decided to resurrect this lost tradition. I did not like the role of General, and though at first I was looked down upon for relinquishing the responsibilities, it had proven to be effective. One Visser in charge of the acquisition of each race. One Yeerk in charge of the Vissers. But, in most cases, I did not micromanage.

Besides management, delegation, and all the other annoying requirements of my position, I chose to focus my abilities on individual threats. Until now, that had been the interrogation of my own people, rooting out spies, insurgencies, and mutinies. This happened among Yeerks more than any of us would like to admit. Discontentment broiled among many of my people, and though I longed for a more peaceful way to remedy it, I was good at purging it through the threat of pain and death. It felt insincere, since I myself was dissatisfied with many aspects of the war, especially forced enslavement. But I realized I could never speak out against it until I offered some compelling solution or alternative. I wished more races would cooperate with us. I wished I didn't have to feel so guilty every time I heard my host moan a wail of grief in my head, or feel a thrash of resistance after a feeding. But there really weren't any other options.

But I was good at interrogations. Very good. I was very good at torture. I learned long ago that physical pain is only one form of punishment, and once the Council granted me full immunity from any conventions or treaties, I started seeing results every time.

And now it appeared I had an assignment that aligned my talents. I felt a thrill of anticipation as I left the overwhelming Pool Station, containing eight Pool Ships on each of its insect-leg docking ports, and boarded my own Blade Ship, preparing to read the file.

Nagrit walked ahead of me, and Yeerks we passed in the hall saluted stiffly. I was used to it. They respected me. That was fine. The thing I didn't want, the thing that provided no purpose, was fear. Pain and death are good punishments, but they are terrible motivators. This was something Visser Eleven did not understand.

"Sometimes I don't understand why we spend so much time trying to get him demoted," Nagrit said suddenly, breaking me from my train of thought. "He has served his people well. We may not like the way he does things, but he does them, and they get done."

I rolled my eyes at Nagrit's circular logic, but then I thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right," I replied. "He has never failed on a large scale. All of us have our disappointments. I just get a strange feeling when I think he will soon have a planet of his own. Foreboding. Disastrous. I can't explain it."

"If you say so, sir," Nagrit responded.

We entered the Bridge, and Nagrit ordered it evacuated. I wanted to view the file in private. Nagrit stood at the navigational computers, powering up the controls so we could get going as soon as we knew where we were headed.

As I sat waiting for the file to download, I felt a warm wave of accomplishment wash over me. I had not felt so content in my entire career—not during those first tests I had mastered in my birth pool to weed out executive talent, not upon entering my first Gedd host, not enjoying my first command position. I remembered the day I got promoted to Sub-Visser: even then, I felt more fear than accomplishment. But I kept climbing the ranks, through my fair, tough, rational leadership style that the entire Empire had become accustomed to. Less inefficiencies, more victories became our motto, and through me we had won the battle on Hork-Bajir and were currently picking off every Taxxon rebel left on their planet. I kept climbing, kept winning, making my name and accomplishments known.

I was first invited to the Council seven years ago. The rest of the Councilors had all been on the Council for decades, some even centuries. I was still young. New, fresh meat. They liked me. I kept them in order, and allowed the body overall, instead of just their leader, to be the figurehead of the Empire. We disagreed about Visser Eleven, but we kept civility among ourselves. I received compliments in private. Encouragements to continue along the path of leadership I had struck. I received very few insults or criticisms, though I was paranoid enough to believe that most of the praise was insincere. To my surprise, however, it was not long before I was chosen to be Empress.

Of course, even that decision was something of a mystery. It had appeared that even when I was invited to the Council, there was no Emperor or Empress. It was as if I had been predestined to become the Empress, that the position had been vacated just so I could fill it. I was confused by this process, and fear crept into the back of my mind.

But now, with an assignment meant just for me, I could feel proud. I no longer simply filled a seat at the head of the table. I sat there because of my skill, my inbred talent. And here, I could prove myself in ways that my particular style of management could never solely account for. I could be the greatest interrogator and torturer in the Yeerk Empire.

The file had almost finished, but I was distracted. I worried about this new race, these humans, only because I felt that somehow, they would outsmart us. Their file scared me. Billions of specimens all on one planet? Most viewed it as a cosmic gift, some force of charity bestowing us with such an able-bodied, ignorant, numerous race. But it made me uneasy. They didn't procreate to such a degree from sheer luck alone.

I heard a whining alarm sound. The file finished downloading. It read in a strange, garbled alien language that the computer took a couple of moments to translate. My eyes rolled back and forth over the data, absorbing the target that would become my job. My obsession. My life's work.

It was an Andalite. An Andalite who lived on the homeworld. Already I felt my stomach sink in failure. How could I procure a single Andalite off the best-guarded planet in the galaxy?

As the text translated, a picture depixelized and appeared on the screen. The picture was taken from an Andalite personnel file, and featured a child. An Andalite child. A girl. A girl that could barely be old enough to walk, let alone present a real threat to the Empire.

I laughed a little. "A little girl?" I asked Nagrit.

"Perhaps one Andalite can make a difference," he suggested.

I glared at him, and read the file further. Her father was a veteran. She had no mother that the file indicated. From one of the most destitute parts of their planet, she was not privileged in any way that I could immediately identify. I was confused. How could this little girl be worth all the trouble?

But I breathed in deep, and already felt my forebrain churn, formulating a plan. "Set course for the Hork-Bajir Homeworld," I said. "Do you think we'll have any luck salvaging an old Andalite fighter?"

"Honestly, no. But I suppose that's as good a place as any to start," Nagrit replied.

I stared at the little girl on my screen. I suddenly felt a surge of purpose and strength in me. I was going to find her, this little girl, this bitch and threat to my Empire. I was going to find and kill Jennor-Elacable-Barees.


	4. Chapter Three: Jennor

Chapter Three

Jennor-Elacable-Barees

A black-blue puddle of thick blood pooled on the ground, and my shaky knees threatened to stop supporting my mounting weight. Terrible, illogical imaginings ran through my mind in torrents, throbbing deeply like my increasing pulse. I imagined that my gut was like the fuel tank of a small Andalite fighter, and my blood would combust if provoked by anything too hot or aggressive. I pictured myself as a vast star, draining into a black hole, a funnel of radioactive fire forming at the event horizon. I felt as though a great blackness was absorbing me, invading my veins with each palpitation of lost blood, swallowing me like an extinct native beast with a prehensile, serpentine tongue.

I fell to my knees, which purged the images from my mind. I clutched my stomach, futilely trying to keep my blood in my body. I pulled one hand away to survey the damage, but as I did another thump of my primary heart sent a great flood of fluid from the wound. My hand was covered in slime that crawled down my wrist in droplets and detached coldly from my elbow.

I didn't know what to do. Panic surged into my mind. I was terrified, overcome with an urge to run away from all of this, if I could only rise to my hooves. How shameful it would be if I died here, on my first day of training, if I could not even complete one period of what _The Warrior Chronicles_ had criticized as one of the simplest and most ill-equipped facilities on the planet. Exile was much better than shame. Defeat floated upon me like an upturned sheet, and I searched desperately for someone to blame. My father, for teaching me so poorly. Trainer, for treating me with such unwarranted disdain. But I finally reached the terrible conclusion that the only person I could blame was myself. Myself, for being too easy to distract, too unprepared and affected to have predicted and effectively blocked the fatal blow.

(Um, excuse me? Small child?) A voice cracked through the air. I whipped around a stalk eye up to see one of the boys in my training group standing above me.

(The trainer requested for me to come over and...assist you.) The uncertainty in his voice elated and infuriated me. He spoke without action, and as I felt hope return to me, I wondered if he was going to do anything, or just stand there and watch me bleed to death.

(Can you help me up?) I asked him feebly, growing more annoyed as the seconds passed and he only continued to stand there indecisively.

(Yes, certainly, I can do that.) He slipped his hand gently under my armpit, and carefully pulled me to my hooves. I tried to stand on my own, but found it impossible, and hastily grabbed his bicep for support.

He flinched slightly, and I realized I'd left a bloody hand print on his arm. (Sorry,) I hissed softly, but did not release my grip. (Which way is the medical scoop?)

He did not answer, and I looked up at his face. He was staring curiously down at me. He did not respond for a few seconds, and though I was justifiably distracted, I noticed that his thoughts had suddenly become much, much quieter.

(Um...I think it's...that way,) he said finally, turning his main eyes toward the semi-circle of administrative scoops a few hundred yards away.

My vision had grown fuzzy, and I could not see the scoops to which he referred. I tried taking a step in the direction that he indicated, but a surge of dizziness overtook me, and I stumbled to my knees again.

(Careful,) the boy said with a tinge of determination. His hand gripped my armpit painfully, and he pulled me back to my hooves.

(Hold onto my arm,) he instructed, now wrapping his other hand around my opposite side. (Don't let go.)

He stepped slowly toward the scoops, dragging my increasingly uncooperative form along with him. (Not like this,) he kept muttering to himself, so quietly that I was pretty sure he didn't intend for me to hear. (Not so soon. Not like this.)

As we traveled, time seemed to slow down, and we arrived at our destination what felt like days later. He set me down carefully on the grass in front of the medical scoop, and blood continued to flow from the wound, in surges less powerful than before. Every breath I drew was like a hot blade below my lungs. I was off my hooves, but I had managed to keep my upper body upright. As the seconds drew on, I feared I would topple over like a spent tree.

(She is wounded.) Harsh words snapped me back to reality. (May I please have a dermal regenerator?)

(Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) A droll, and surprisingly female voice responded.

A woman, outlined in shadow, stood within the scoop. It appeared she was taking inventory of the various medical equipment within. I could not see very well from my position on the ground, but the boy was surprised, and so was I.

(I guess that is today, isn't it?) She said with a sigh.

(What…) I said, surprised that she knew who I was.

(Already bloodshed. Already a casualty of this ridiculous war. Already forced to grow up much sooner than anyone should have to. I should have fought harder for you.) She put down some medical instrument and smiled mirthlessly. (Oh well. You're on the path, whether I like it or not. This is Tuxebi's handiwork, isn't it?)

(Yes,) Cristex responded. (How did you—)

(Just morph it away. They don't want us wasting the energy cells on these.) She gestured to the dermal regenerator, holding it tantalizingly close to the boy's grasp without handing it to him.

He turned a stalk eye in my direction and said, (You can morph, can't you?)

I shook my stalk eye in the customary negative response.

(She can't morph,) he relayed.

(Well, that we can remedy,) she said, handing him the geometric Escafil Device. The boy crouched down and held it to me.

I had heard much about the process of morphing. Most Andalites were fascinated by it, but the whole thing disgusted me. It felt insincere and unnatural. I was born as one thing for a reason. Changing that, forfeiting it, felt wrong. Cowardly. Unproud.

But at that moment, I had little choice.

I lifted my heavy arm and pressed my hand lightly on the surface of the cube. It glowed, and a sudden spark of pleasure momentarily overwhelmed the pain and terror. I was now outfitted forever with the ability to prevent this type of injury from ever harming me again.

But as I felt hope suppress my fear, I wondered what at cost that would come.

The boy pulled the cube away, and for a second he stared down at me, expecting me to morph, expecting the problem to be solved. Then his eyes narrowed, and he realized one final step was required.

I needed to acquire something.

His narrowed eyes turned into a glare, and he turned a stalk eye back to the woman in the scoop, who stared back.

I think she sensed his hesitation, because she said, (This girl has been entrusted to your care. Finish the job.)

I heard him sigh, and he reluctantly extended his hand for me to touch.

I reached out to him with my two longest fingers, and as I grazed the surface of his skin, I felt him flinch. I was beginning to understand that this was a customary reaction to my touch. I acquired him, and my fingers suddenly had the impression of heaviness, partnered with a tingling sensation that was sort of pleasant. The boy's eyes rolled up into his head. The process was complete. I had absorbed his DNA, now and forever.

I pulled away and stared at my fingers. They seemed much more significant than the feeble appendages they had been not seconds ago. They now had the ability to replicate identity. I could become a new person if I desired. Yes, I was born as Jennor, but if I changed, I no longer felt like I would lose that. I understood the allure of morphing, the reason it was so beloved among my people. I was no longer bound to one form. I could float freely among species, people, genders, races, and creeds. I felt invincible.

But the nagging feeling of forfeit did not subside. As strong as I felt now, I wondered what would happen to me when the transformation was complete.

(So,) The boy said, interrupting my musings, a hint of impatience now in his voice. (Do it already.)

I obeyed his command, and with my eyes open, staring at the boy so I wouldn't have to picture him, I took the plunge.

The changes that occurred were much subtler than another morph, such as a Kafit bird, would have been. My legs extended beneath me, and thickened with the meaty flesh of the adolescent male. Soon they were strong enough to support my body, and I rose to my hooves.

Next, my shoulders broadened, and my rib cage blossomed. I took a deep breath, and my expanding lungs were left unsatisfied. My arms grew, coated in long sinew. My tail lengthened and turned the dull, yellow color that identifies males. My stalk eyes grew, and my vision improved as new blood filled my veins. Energy returned to me. I wasn't dying anymore.

I looked down and saw the wound, only seconds ago purging its last quantities of blood, seal itself from right to left, as if an invisible zipper had closed it. The remnants of my old blood still coated my skin, but the danger had passed. I was fine.

The growth stopped, and I assumed I had finished the morph, but one final change swept upon me like a warm breeze. It was like someone had placed a syringe in my ear canal and injected a wonderful shot of confidence. It flowed down my neck, into my hearts, and throughout my body, straightening my spine, flexing my muscles, twitching my tail. All sense of doubt and self-blame I had concluded for myself melted away.

Thoughts also began to flow through my mind differently than before. In my normal form, I had been a rock in the ocean upon which waves of ideas, images, and feelings had pounded upon, but now I was now a slide projector. Each thought I had came in quick succession—when I was finished with one, another would come, and I would spend enough time on it to comprehend, then move on to the next. It was a slightly jarring change, as I had based my style of decision-making and conversation on the former system all of my life. It took me a couple of moments to realize I was being addressed.

(Okay, you're healed!) The boy said with a note of urgency in his voice. I sensed this was not the first time he had tried to say communicate with me from the texture of his voice, but, strangely enough, I could not feel his discomfort. I expected the cold splash of rage and impatience, but it never came. He was completely disconnected from me. Unique. Silent. I felt curiously alone in his form.

(Yes, I am healed,) I said back to him, in my own voice. (I shall demorph now.)

But I held on to the form. There was something very normal about standing here, a regular cadet, broad, strong, aged late in my second interval. I was inconspicuous and conventional. I did not stand out. Eyes did not hover over me filled with curiosity and concern, and I was not forced to delve into the thoughts that propagated behind them. I felt very safe. I could succeed or fail without the obligation and responsibility of proving that despite my age or gender, I was capable.

(Now?) The boy asked, angry now instead of just urgent.

(Sorry,) I muttered, and returned to my original body, relinquishing the broad build, unearned confidence, and warm hands of the boy.

Returning to my old form was just as interesting as changing into the boy. Despite my shrinking stature, and the diminishing optimistic feeling, it felt like I was returning home. I noticed things about myself that I had previously not been aware of. My proportions now were clearer to me. As all of the extra matter slipped away, I realized that I had a long neck, and short, thin fingers in comparison to the boy. My feminine features now also felt more apparent—my waist was cinched, my hooves were delicate, and my flanks were narrow and much, much shorter. My jaw was longer by comparison, and I was sure my main eyes were bigger. And before long, I felt my old mind return. Once again thoughts came to me in the customary way, and I could feel outward again. The boy became a subdued part of my identity. I looked at and within him, and saw that he was both relieved and, for some reason, slightly ashamed.

I checked my torso, and saw that my skin there was as it had been before the incident—unscathed.

(I thought morphing injuries away caused scars,) I wondered aloud, fingering the smooth, undisturbed flesh.

(It takes a lot of concentration to get a scar,) the nurse said with a scoff. Despite eavesdropping, she was busy with other tasks. (You've got to be almost completed focused on the injury you're healing to cause a scar. Usually only very significant psychological wounds cause scars. The kinds that not only hurt physically, but deep within your hearts. Scary as it was, I'm sure, yours was pretty superficial.)

I flexed my fingers and the boy suggested we return to our group. We quickly thanked the physician, who nodded politely back, seemingly unmoved that she had just assisted in saving a life. I guess it's something that becomes mundane once you do it enough.

An unspoken apprehension about returning to the man who tried to kill one of us and forced the other to save her caused us to move slowly, exchanging idle conversation as we crept.

(I never caught your name,) I spoke softly

(Cristex,) he responded curtly. It was clear that the only place he wanted to be less than back with the trainer was walking there with me. I felt a prickle of guilt and turned my head downward, looking at the ground.

There were a few moments of buzzing silence before I decided to embark on conversation again. (Did you find the way Trainer was speaking earlier...strange? I couldn't quite figure out what he was doing, he was—)

(Yes.) He paused for a moment, unwilling, it seemed, to extrapolate. (He using Form Alpha thought-speech.)

(Form Alpha?) I asked. I shook my stalk eyes in confusion, not only unaware that there was more than one way to thought-speak, but that I'd been using a secondary type. (How can it be first if I've never heard it before?)

(It's considered a higher form of communication,) he explained. I sensed now that he was a little bit more comfortable. Our interaction had eased his cold, obligatory disgust. (The goal is for language to be the main avenue for comprehension. He was speaking "words.")

(So what are we speaking?) I asked.

(Form Beta communication. It's casual and unregulated. And also less precise.)

(But I couldn't understand him very well,) I protested.

(It becomes easier, the more you hear it.) He said. He breathed deeply and straightened, clearly glad that he was able to share this special expertise with someone. (It's a perfectly formed laungage, really. Eons of linguistic engineering have created a dialect so logical that it is nearly instinctual. It removes the possibility for ambiguity. And in situations like battles, both on ground and in space, any time wasted on ambiguity can be paid for with lives.)

(Ambiguity?) I muttered, more to myself than anything. (I never have that problem.)

(No,) Cristex agreed. He turned a hazel stalk eye down to me, and despite arrogance and self-consciousness, there was a hint of kindness and caring in his smile. (But you know war. Everything has to have clear edges, people need something concrete to grab onto. You can't really grab onto ephemeral wisps of picture and idea, can you?)

(No, but I could never speak that way,) I said. We walked again for a few minutes in silence before Cristex revived the conversation.

(So, I hope I'm not being intrusive or offensive asking this, but...why are you training now? You're so young. Why do you need to train so early?)

(My father said it was time,) I explained. (He's been teaching me since I was just a filly. I know enough now to train here.)

The kindness in his hearts seemed to shift into pity. (You are just a filly.)

I was confused, but I had no rebuttal. My father had been calling me "little _aristh_" now long enough that I had simply accepted it as true, but then I realized that being a little _aristh_ and being a youth were not mutually exclusive. (What about you?) I asked, avoiding the need to defend myself.

(I plan to go down the medical track,) he said. (Field medicine, for the war, then research once my service is complete. Unfortunately, that requires me to complete basic training.)

(Unfortunately?) I asked. (You don't want to be here?)

(Does anyone?) He laughed for a time, but stopped when he looked down and saw that I was confused and hurt.

We caught up with Trainer a few moments later. We tried to sneak in the back of the group, minimizing the drama, but I sensed a danger in his playful eyes.

(Ah, good as new, no?) He announced to everyone. I hung my stalk eyes in shame as the rest of the boys scoffed at my expense. Cristex smiled reassuringly down at me, and I couldn't help but feel a little braver, since now I had at least some kind of advocate.

(Please practice the techniques we went over in pairs, everyone. Jennor,) he said privately to me, (You obviously require hoofwork training. Follow me.)

I felt my hearts drop as he led me away. Cristex easily joined up with a pair of cadets, but he watched me until we were out of sight.

We came upon the mud pit, and the overwhelming stench assaulted me and made my eyes water. Living earth, bubbling up and churning from the heat of the suns, now high overhead, was waiting to reach out and infect me. Each step fed my imagination a little bit more; I already felt covered in the stuff before I even stepped hoof in it. In my mind, it flowed between the hairs on my body and seeped into my hooves, mucking up my sensitive esophagi, leaking into my stomach. It clogged my pores, locking sweat within my skin, aggravating and drying out my complexion. I could feel the treacherous suns pull the water from it afterward, leaving me encased in a hard, cracking, dirt shell.

We reached the edge of the laser fence, and with a small device he held in his hands, he turned it off. It gave one final red flicker before disappearing completely.

(Jennor,) he said, his voice like shards of glass in a silk pouch, (Best to begin, no?)

I took one final breath of fresh air, and stepped into the muck. I did my best to keep my hooves closed, but soon the bitter taste of filth crept into my shins. A liquid layer, skimming the top, splashed up my legs, and specks of dirty water littered my flanks. I stepped as carefully as I could to the middle of the pit, and found that just standing there waiting for instructions, I was sinking.

(Figure eights to start,) he said frigidly, gazing down at me with his main eyes narrowed, armed folded loosely across his chest.

I trudged to one corner of the pit, and took a deep breath before beginning. The pit was 9 square meters, which for a fully grown adolescent wouldn't have been much of a problem, but I was too small to make a single diagonal leap across. I planted my hooves as firmly as I could in the unstable ground, and sprang away.

I only made it about half way, and I quickly leaped again, trying to futilely fool him into thinking I could cover the whole distance in one jump. But this unprepared second leap only brought me another quarter of the way. I leaped again, but now my footing was tangled, and I toppled down headfirst into the mud.

My arms sank down. My neck, chest, forelegs were all covered, coated and immobile. I blinked my main eyes and dark smears streaked across my vision.

I heard Trainer laugh above me. (You're flopping around like a _djabala _grub,) he said. (You can barely hold yourself upright. Pathetic.)

I glared up at him with a stalk eye as I pulled myself to my hooves, clumps now tumbling down my flanks and legs. I prepared to jump to the adjacent corner. This leap was shorter, but would still be difficult to accomplish in one take.

After about three full figure eights, I finally had a process down that kept me on my hooves and completed all journeys in two jumps or less. But after forty, I began looking up to Trainer for mercy—water, or a break for grazing (Andalites have a rapid metabolism, and need to eat constantly or else they get lightheaded and weak), or even just a moment to catch my breath. But he continued to stand there, staring down at me with those black, narrowed eyes, arms crossed loosely across his chest. The only movement he performed was rolling his stalk eyes around lazily, and then sweeping them over my mud-stained body.

(We're not having any fun, are we, Jennor?) He finally said, without changing his position at all. I continued performing the figure eights as my condition deteriorated. (Such a shame, punishing you this way. You didn't really do anything wrong, after all. Didn't break any rules. Simple underperformance did you in.) I looked up at him then, eyes wide in protest.

(Yes, it would be a shame for me to have to mark that on your record. Marring something flawless so early, no? It would be shameful.)

I stood up straight, halting the cyclical, pointless task. It was a stupid thing to do, breaking orders like that on the first day, but I had to confront this.

(No, you wouldn't like that at all, would you? No, no. Unfortunately, it is protocol.)

He shrugged slightly, but then smiled. (There is one thing you could do to make up for it.) He gestured with his stalk eye for me to continue the figure eights. I leaped across the pit in one bound, renewed with hope.

(It would be a shame if your father found out about the...ah, incident this morning. After all, he would not be very happy with you, for failing to employ his training techniques, no? He thinks you're very special, Jennor, and to hear that you are as mediocre as any of these pubescent colts, well, that would ruin him, wouldn't it?)

I was confused, and though I knew I would be punished for questioning him, I could think of no worse punishment than what I was doing at that moment. (Why do you care how he feels about me?)

(Oh, well, I don't, Jennor. The relationships between parents and their children interest me little. But, he would come at me, of course. Argue with me for defeating you so soon, for forcing his prized _aristh_ to realize how meaningless she really is. And to be quite honest, I don't want to have to deal with him.)

(He frightens you?) I inferred, before I could stop myself.

The playful gaze turned into a glare. (That is not what I said,) he growled. (I simply don't want to have conversations that don't need to be had. Especially ones which include...unsavory accusations.)

The playful gaze returned, and I leapt across the pit again with less power than before. (We're going to let you keep your record, then?) he said finally.

(Yes, sir,) I responded.

For hours more I leapt around the mud pit, until the Elder sun began ducking beneath the horizon, until I could no longer even feel the pain in my muscles, and was simply aware of a strange, buzzing jelly-like substance beneath my skin. My lungs had hardened into concrete, my throat was dry and cracked, like the mud around my chest and shoulders. My stomach had stopped growling, and now merely sank in heavy submission. Sweat beaded and coated the mud all the way from my neck to my hooves. I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand.

(All right, Jennor,) he said, just as the Elder sun finally hid completely from view. (I've kept you an hour longer than I should have. You may go home. Your father must be worried, no?)

He reached down, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the pool.

I wiped off my hooves hastily and rubbed them furiously over the grass, crushing and chomping so I could ingest it. My flailing orifices swallowed without sufficiently chewing. Unprocessed chunks of grass and root crawled up my legs. It would be difficult to sleep tonight.

He allowed me to sit there for a couple of minutes before ordering me to my hooves. I got up and continued to suck moisture from the grass as I took small, sore steps away from the pit and towards my home.

(Jennor, remember our agreement,) Trainer said, a hint of urgency shaded with guilt in his voice. I looked back at him with a stalk eye, and he paused for a while. (I will see you tomorrow,) he said finally, and I nodded my stalk eye in agreement.

The run that had taken me only about 10 minutes with my father that morning took me almost an hour by myself. I felt bitter and lonely on the way back. I'd meant to come to training impressive with my precocious talent, earning compliments and praise. And what had I done? Embarrassed myself. Almost earned enough dishonor to get expelled on the first day. Our neighbors watched me with concern as I left a dripping trail of mud, limping weakly on my creaking legs. The final rays of the Younger sun ushered me home, to the scoop that now looked much different than it had that morning.

For one thing, my father was talking to a young woman within it.

I could tell right away this was not good, though it distracted me from my overwhelming failure. I stood atop our rise for a while, trying to figure out what was going on before being spotted. Frantic thoughts raced through my mind. I tried to apply some kind of order to them. How should I react? What questions were okay to ask? I felt panic surge into my hearts again for the second time that day. Who was this woman? Why was my father speaking to her, why had he invited her into his scoop? My father never invited visitors. People only entered our scoop if they were unsolicited, usually from the military. Why would he allow this complete stranger to come into his home?

Before I could sort out what I would say and in what order I would say it, my father's stalk eye caught sight of me. It was smiling. He gestured for me to descend the hill, to come meet his guest.

Despite the fear, I couldn't help but let hope sweep through as well. Trainer's mention of a mother earlier that day had seemed completely random, but...had he known something about this?

Did I have one? And if I did, was she this woman?

I held my breath, and hoped the quality of the day would achieve some sort of symmetry.

(You're late,) my father said, almost nonchalantly. (I see you've discovered the wonder of hoofwork training,)

I attempted a feeble smile, but even my stalk eyes felt sore.

Without saying anything, I glared at the girl as obviously as I could. Up close, she seemed much different. Scared. Wobbly, almost. Her stalk eyes did not move, and her tail hung low and loose. She was doing something strange with her left hand—rubbing her third finger and thumb together so they made a loud popping sound. She stared at me with light blue eyes that almost perfectly matched her skin tone. She was not old, but she was no longer a child. Somewhere near the end of her third interval, or perhaps very early in her fourth.

(Jennor, I'd like to introduce you to someone,) my father said, putting his hand on her shoulder. I felt a sweep of envy, but I wasn't sure why. (Well, I'll introduce you, but she is mute, so I can't introduce her.)

I looked at the girl, who seemed slightly miffed by this statement.

(Why is she here?) I asked, much less subtly than I had planned.

My father smiled a big, strange smile that warped his scar. The second smile of the day, though this one unsettled me. (She will be looking after you from now on,) he said, kissing my cheek softly as I stared up at him in shock.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I know this is off to kind of a slow start, but I promise it will pick up soon. Thanks to my readers and reviewers, and I hope you're enjoying it so far! :)**


	5. Chapter Four: Teresa Rerin

Chapter Four

Teresa Rerin

1979

Here I was, standing on this strange world, in this strange body, looking at these strange people who were looking back at me just as strangely. It would have been just fine to call the whole situation "awkward" if I weren't scared out of my mind.

The strange little girl was glaring at me with her strange eyes. She seemed too young to be so understanding. At first, I thought she was gonna topple over, on her knees, like those newborn horses in animal shows on PBS. Her upper body was like a kid's, but it was still very strange, because she was lean, and muscular, and I would say bony if she didn't seem so strong. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she knew it.

Despite her strange appearance, it was hard not to look her in the eye. They were so strange, and so big, and so open. These creatures, these aliens, whatever they were, they were a lot like humans. Most of them kept their eyes open only enough to see, only as much as they needed. They hid the rest. This girl didn't hide nothing. She kept her lids relaxed, and her eyes hung loose out of them. There weren't no secrets, and I could feel everything she felt. Betrayed, alone, sad, and angry. I looked away. She scared me.

Her stalk eye was pointed square at the old man, who I could only guess was her daddy. These strange creatures didn't have mouths, and they could talk to each other in private if they wanted. In her eyes, I could see her accusing him, telling him how hurt she was, but he looked unmoved by whatever she said. Finally, though, his eyes got all soft and mad, and he turned slowly to her, as she shook her head, trying to unsay whatever she had just said.

(You question my loyalty, my strength, my quality. You question things you cannot even comprehend, Jennor. You insist on hurting me, you force me to reevaluate every decision I have made since then, relive every wound I have received. You insult me, with your selfish curiosity. You're so much like…) He trailed off for a moment, looking back at me, glaring like it was my fault. (It is something I would expect of a common, grass-stained foal, not an upstanding _aristh_.) He continued. (Accept what I have granted you with grace and poise, and do not dwell on the irrelevant questions of your past.)

The girl looked ready to crumble. Her eyes quivered with a revealing sort of weakness, and though I could tell it was hard for her, she pressed the question the rest of the way.

(What happened to her?)

His eye turned hard, real sudden, stiff and metal. He reached his big hand forward real slow and wrapped it hard around her upper arm. (She is gone, Jennor. She has gone where we cannot follow. And she will never, ever come back.)

His voice was as close a thing to spoken English that I had heard in weeks. It was hard, and less comforting than his previous voice, but it was clearer. Even though it wasn't English, I could understand him near perfect. The way diamonds sparkle more bright if they've been cut and shaped, his words echoed around my head and refracted meaning.

He glared down at her, his hard eyes were like light bulbs, and hers were soft, like water. She was shaking her head slightly, trying to unsay whatever it was she had said, and make the whole mess disappear. She swatted and clawed weakly at his hand, which gripped her arm so tight that the dirty skin bulging around it had turned dark blue. He didn't flinch. He wanted to make sure his point was made, and he kept glaring until her eyes turned downward and she stopped struggling.

He let go of her arm, and I could see six thick white lines where his fingers had clasped her. He turned to me, his eyes all set and glassy, and said simply, (Make sure she is restful before it is all-dark. And clean her up.)

The girl collapsed onto the ground in a heap like a steer in a slaughterhouse. Her skin was matted and wet with mud, and her tail and stalk eyes hung loose toward the ground. I was beginning to understand—these strange, mouthless creatures seemed at first altogether unmovable, but after observing them for a while, it was clear that they had a whole different system for expressing themselves. They smiled with their eyes—stalk eyes if only a little pleased, main eyes if ecstatic, and frowned the same way. Their stalk eyes and tails were held up high if proud, low if defeated. I tried keeping my own high, but it was so heavy.

I walked over to the girl—she didn't seem as threatening now as she had earlier, and as ashamed as I felt of it, I wanted to obey the man's orders while she was still subdued and sad. I grabbed her hand, and tried to pull her up. I laughed a little, thinking how ridiculous this whole situation was, how like a little baby she was, all tangled and yearning, wanting to walk. I remembered a time when my cousin brought her little girl over, how she clung to the coffee table, eyes filled with accomplishment and pride.

(I am no infant,) the little girl said feebly, after a long pause in which her eye slowly turned up to look at me.

I looked down at her in shock. _She can understand me?_

(You are speaking very softly, but yes, I can hear you,) she said, sadness still spilling from her mind. (My Father thinks you are a mute. He must not be able to hear you. What is your name?)

I looked down at her curiously, wondering if it was a good idea to tell her. It hadn't been a good idea last time. None of these aliens knew my secret yet—if I told her my name, she would be able to figure it out, and if she figured out my secret—

(You are not one of us,) she concluded. (You are thinking too loudly. I can still hear you. What is your name?) she repeated, now distracted enough to be annoyed rather than sad.

_Teresa Rerin_, I thought.

(You are soft again. Think loudly, like you want me to hear.)

(Teresa Rerin,) I said.

(We can work on that,) the girl said, a hint of smile playing in her stalk eye. (Welcome to Andal, Teresa Rerin.)

This renewed her sense of accomplishment enough for me to help her to her feet, and she brought me into the scoop to retrieve a small device that depolarized the dirt particles on her fur and exfoliated dead skin and hair cells. That was how she described it, but from what I could understand it was a laser that cleaned her off. We stepped outside, and I ran the laser slowly around her body, letting big clumps of mud slide down her skin and onto the ground. We were quiet for a while, but soon she asked, (If you are not one of us, what are you?)

I looked at her for a little too long, and burned her a little bit with the laser. (Sorry,) I said quickly. (I, um, I don't really know how to explain this whole thing, it's kind of a long story…)

(Well then,) she said, wiping off a real big clump of mud from her shoulder, (it's probably best to start at the beginning.)

I'd been living in a foster home for the last year or so. A dingy little hovel with an aluminum roof that leaked in the rain and baked in the sun. My foster parents left me well enough alone in most cases, but they were all too attentive in others. Frank was my foster father, and I had found his hand one too many times resting places it had no business being.

I'd wanted to run away as long as I could remember. But there was baggage. I had a twin sister who I'd always taken care of, and I couldn't imagine leaving her in that hell. But taking her with made the whole situation four times more complicated, and I certainly wasn't smart enough for that.

But in the end, smart didn't have nothing to do with it. Frank came home smelling of piss and vinegar and forced himself on me, all grippy like velcro, and I couldn't slip away. He ran his crusty white tongue over my neck and I had to hit him to break free. He burst open like a volcano and I ran, and I just kept running.

Each time my foot pounded the ground, I felt a lurch of guilt in my stomach. Leaving my sister there all alone to tame that gross old tongue, to sit with her neck tilted away, as much in prison as someone who's murdered. But what could I do? If I'd have stayed, he'd have hit me, or raped me, or worse. I had an opportunity to break free, and I took it. No one would have blamed me.

The plan had changed, but I tried to stay up about it. My mama always used to tell me that no matter how bad things got, there was always someone had it worse. I wasn't exactly sure why that was comforting, but it was. I didn't remember my daddy very much, but I remember one thing that he had said to me too, just as comforting, making a little bit more sense—God only gives us challenges He knows we can handle. This one worked for a while, but also stopped making any sense when my daddy hanged himself in his bedroom while my mama was picking up the dry cleaning. God's challenges were just too much for my daddy to handle. Maybe my challenges would be too. I asked my mama about it, and she said that it wasn't God's challenges that did my daddy in, it was Uncle Sam's. The army wrote us a nice big check to keep us quiet about it, but my mama milked all that away on all different sorts of drugs, some that required long rubber tubes and needles, others that required clear glass tubes and bent spoons. Before long, more of Uncle Sam's people came to take my sister and me away. They had tried calling our big half-brother, but they couldn't find him, so we ended up with Frank. My mama kept in touch with us a lot for the first couple of years, but before long, she stopped calling, and stopped writing, and a couple of years after that, we heard those different tubes had finally sucked her all the way down.

But it didn't matter. I had just enough cash on me for a nice, long bus ride, and hopefully enough smarts in my head and strength in my back to make it from there. I took the first bus out to the country the following morning, and decided to find work on some kind of farm. I hoped it wouldn't be too hard—I didn't have any experience working a farm, but I was pretty sure it would be a nice, quiet job in a nice, quiet town with a nice, quiet wage given under a nice, quiet table. I didn't have any prospects when I got off the bus, so I decided to take a nice, quiet walk through the countryside to get to know the lay of the land.

Between two properties, the noon sun high overhead, I found a nice, quiet little gravel path that seemed to be beckoning me to follow it. I started walking, and inhaled a deep breath of sweet air that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. I followed the path for a while, to the end of each of the fields, where a forest, bubbling up and down the landscape, loomed ahead. The path continued, and the sun was getting a little heavy on my skin, so I decided to follow the path a little further and get me some shade. Another forty-five minutes or so passed, and the world kept getting lonelier and lonelier. Trees were getting taller, and there were fewer spaces between them. The path was also getting narrower and harder to follow, and soon enough, I was pretty sure I was just walking blind through the forest. I saw wildlife that was more and more exotic—a bobcat, in broad daylight, and a family of deer. Soon, I heard the refreshing sound of running water—my walk had now gone on more than a few hours and I was getting thirsty. I followed my ears, and walked into the middle of a large clearing, where a single, dead oak tree stood over a small creek.

The sun was still pretty high overhead, and the grass was tall and soft. All sorts of wildflowers swayed slowly in the breeze, and I felt undeserving of such sweet, natural beauty. I had committed a sin worse than anything I could think of—killing her wouldn't have been so cruel. How could I possibly deserve such peace?

I wandered over to the creek, and lay down next to it. I dipped my hand in the cool, clear water, and splashed it over my face. It was refreshing and cold, and I felt the sweat on my brow, and all of the guilt pounding the inside of my skull run away. I cupped my hands together and dipped them in the water, drinking from the creek. A few more gulps left me satisfied, and I rested my head on my arms, and fell asleep under the watchful protection of the afternoon sun.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my side. "_Grafat_ dead?" I heard a rough, deep, alien voice muttering. "No, _harnat_ moving."

I looked up to see two devilish faces staring down at me.

They were tall, and terrifying, and snake-like, but the only thing I could see was their eyes. Their eyes were yellow, hard, widening slits—like a cat. An unnatural light seemed to be glowing from them—even the light from the sun was shadowed by those horrible points of despair. They glared down at me, and when they realized I was awake, they dilated.

"Grab it," one said.

I tried to scramble away, but the beasts were big and strong. One of them wrapped his giant, bladed hands around my waist, and I tried to pry them off, but they wouldn't budge. I began kicking and screaming and crying, but he wrapped his arms around me and put his bladed hands against my throat, and the other one now had a weapon even more dangerous than the blades I saw jutting from every joint in his body—a gun, a futuristic, sci-fi ray gun that was whirring dangerously.

"Human _rettle _quiet," it growled softly. I stopped moving, and breathed fast, and tried to keep my head.

The beast carried me with his wrist blade against my throat until he stopped and put me on the ground. He told me to stay still, and the other kept his whirring gun trained on me, as the first one disappeared through a door that simply opened up in the middle of the meadow to retrieve something.

The door closed, concealed again, and I stared up at the beast. He was about seven feet tall, with thick, green skin, like organic armor, coating his body. Long blades, cracked and yellow like old toenails, emerged through his skin at regular points in his body—his wrists, his elbows, his knees, his ankles. It seemed like one wrong move and he could impale himself, or even worse, me, but he seemed to be gifted with some grace in addition to his raw power. And his eyes, his yellow eyes that were turning orange as the day became darker and darker, burned with a life that I wished I could harness.

Soon, the door reopened, and the second beast came outside to stand guard. Another one of these beasts, this one even taller, and clothed in some sort of tight, shiny leather, emerged from within the invisible room and walked over to me.

"Ahh, finally," it said in near perfect English, still tainted with a breathy lisp due to his long mouth, "an actual specimen."

He leaned over me and stuck his frightening fingers, capped in sharp claws, in my face, under my arms, in my stomach. "Much more feeble than I would have expected. Two legs, no tail, as our spies have noted. How do they remain upright?"

The other beast, sensing the clothed beast wanted to perform an experiment, pulled me to my feet. I was shaking so bad that I could hardly stand. He let me get my bearings, and then gave me a little shove. I caught myself, and the smaller beast looked to the bigger one.

"Push her harder." This second shove was a little bit worse, but I still managed to catch myself. "Again," it said, a little bit more urgency in his voice. With two hands, the shorter beast pushed me down and I fell backwards onto the ground. I wasn't hurt, but I started sobbing on the spot.

"Ah, yes, well," the clothed beast said. "I suppose everything falls if you push it hard enough. Even an Andalite." All of the beasts shared a laugh at this incomprehensible joke.

"What is your name, human?"

"Teresa Rerin," I mumbled through tears, before I could stop myself.

"I see. Female. Of the reproductive age, but not very far into that term. Perhaps we should breed her, obtain more specimens. The council is very interested in this planet. The more we can offer them, the better our chances that they'll reprioritize and send actual troops for immediate invasion."

"Yes, sir."

At this point a deep anger gripped me, and I finally decided it was time to fight back a little. I got up and scrambled backwards, threatening to run away, but the beast standing guard at the invisible door trained his weapon on me again.

"Little human, where would you go?" The clothed beast asked. "The forest is miles in all directions—how you got out here is but one of the mysteries I yearn to solve. Why you came here, for instance, is another. But the mysteries I am most interested are the ones I know you can answer—I want you to tell me everything about your little culture. Your little society. How many of you are there, what technological advancements have you achieved? Have you discovered the realm of zero-space yet? No?"

I shook my head slowly, the tears clung to my jaw, and I felt a great wave of nausea and vomited.

"Ah, human, no need to be upset." The beast said. "We will not kill you, if that is what concerns you. You are a highly valued commodity, and we need you alive."

Suddenly I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my neck, and I realized the third beast had managed to sneak behind me with some kind of shot. I felt its effects almost immediately, and fell to the meadow floor.

I opened my eyes, and it took them a few, frightening moments to focus. I realized we were no longer in the forest—there were no birds singing, no wind in the grass, no cicadas buzzing. There was a high-pitched humming sound that seemed to be accelerating, and the smell of rubbing alcohol. I tried to turn my head, but found that I couldn't. I wondered if the drug the beasts had given me was some kind of paralyzer, but then my mouth opened, and I spoke.

"I have increased epinephrine production, and have regained consciousness," the words said. "Yes, the girl is awake too."

My eyes opened a little wider and they saw the clothed beast standing above me. "What news shall I deliver to Councilman Sessil?"

"They are class five, sub-Visser."

The beasts's eyes widened, and he smiled a strange, toothy smile. "Excellent," he whispered. "Get out of there, no doubt he'll want to inspect this being himself when we meet up with him. A second testimony may be enough to convince the rest of the Council."

Suddenly I realized there was another presence in my head. Something in my mind, thinking with me and moving for me. It didn't speak in words, but I could understand what it was thinking, what it was remembering. A sort of stream of thought passed through my head, in addition to my own, and it was both totally separate from my own personality and completely part of it. As completely as it was sharing its thoughts and memories with me, I realized it was reading my own thoughts, remembering my memories, calming me down. At first, I'm not going to lie, it was sort of pleasant. Sort of comforting. I am so lonely sometimes that I wish there was someone else who knew what I was going through, someone else who could understand. And now there was.

But as soon as the comfort came, a sense of dread came as well. Now that it realized I was awake and that I was sharing its thoughts, it cut me off. Now it was just a leech, feeding off of my own thoughts, keeping its thoughts from me. In shock, I wanted to gasp, but I couldn't. I wanted to get up and shake my head to force the intruder out, but I couldn't. I started screaming, in the cage of my own head.

(Calm down, human, I'm leaving you soon anyway.) It said, a clipped, controlled burst of thought that it allowed to pass from itself to me.

Big hands with sharp claws grabbed me at my shoulders and hips and held me in my position on the cold, steel ground. A second beast came with a small bowl of molten fluid and held it beneath my right ear. Suddenly I felt heaviness and a deep pain in my head, like I was clogged shut with the worst cold ever. My hearing became muffled and dim, and a deep pressure came from within my head, forcing its way out of my ear.

The pain reached a point where it was unbearable, but then I felt a cool trickle of liquid in my ear, and it diminished. The skin became more elastic, and the thing coming out of me squeezed hard, but managed to fit through the narrow canal. Soon enough, I felt a squirming, disgusting tip of something emerge from the hole in my ear, peeking around, and it kept growing and squeezing. Finally, with more weight on the outside than in, the rest of its body slid out fast and plopped real satisfying into the molten liquid.

I only then realized I was breathing normally. _I_ was breathing normally. I flexed the fingers on my right hand, and then I started mad convulsing, trying to break free of the monster, trying to get up so I could run away.

They were holding me down, and I couldn't move.

"Anesthetize her again," the clothed Hork-Bajir said. I knew what they were called now, and what they were, because of those brief moments of intimacy. I knew what they were doing, and what they wanted with me.

They were Yeerks.

Just as I felt the pin prick of another syringe from one of the Hork-Bajir holding me down, there was a loud, piercing, crashing sound, and the ship shook hard. The Hork-Bajir holding me down let go so he could run to the helm, and as soon as I could regain balance, I clambered up to find a hiding place.

The Hork-Bajir were frantic. "Get compensators back online!" one snapped. "Regain helm control! Fire back! Fire back! Open fire!"

I hid under a control panel as the Hork-Bajir fought against their attackers. I had seen a vivid, but brief image of the enemy—an elegant, blue, centaur-like creature with a wicked sharp tail blade hanging over his head, a look of satisfaction bordering on arrogance in his four, bright eyes. Despite this image, I had no idea what they were called.

Within a few minutes, the battle was lost. The main lights had gone off, and emergency runners that outlined the various equipment, walkways and chairs glowed red. One of the Hork-Bajir had hit his head hard on the wall, and had fallen to the ground, dark green blood oozing from his ears. The other two were trying to make up for lost time and manpower, but soon, the ship powered down, and they had no choice but to launch a defensive against the invaders that were boarding their ship.

The outline of the hatch glowed white, and I watched silent from my hiding place under the panel. After a few minutes, it opened, and a bright light from behind the intruder obscured its face. It stepped ginger onto the ship with clicking hooves, and looked around real careful, swerving its stalk eyes, pointing its ray gun in various corners, using infra-red detection technology in the gun to see where the Hork-Bajir were.

But the gun didn't help. A Hork-Bajir screamed loud and trained its gun on the intruder, but it was faster. A bright blue light leapt from its gun and hit the Hork-Bajir square in the chest. A gaping, clean hole appeared, and the Hork-Bajir reeled in panic, and slammed to the floor of the ship, twitching.

I looked around and saw the glowing eyes of the lead, clothed Hork-Bajir watching from beneath the control panel. He glared right back.

I decided, without much information or logic, to help the centaur. "He's under there!" I shouted, pointing with my human (and unarmed) hand to the control panel. The Hork-Bajir's eyes widened in surprise, and he pulled himself out to launch a last attack on the sole centaur.

It was no contest. Keeping his stalk eyes on me, the centaur shot the leader dead, and did one last visual and infra-red sweep of the ship to see there were no more threats.

No more threats save me.

He stared at me as one of his companions crept onto the ship, which, with the dead bodies of the Hork-Bajir, was starting to get crowded. The first centaur walked over to me and, pointing his gun real menacing, pulled me out from beneath the panel.

(What is it, Germodd?) the centaur behind him asked.

(Looks like an experiment,) he said. (No doubt some new species the Yeerks want to infest.)

(How fortunate for us,) the other centaur said. I realized she was a girl.

(Indeed,) the leader, Germodd, said. (All too fortunate.)

They spoke no more to me, but walked me over to their ship, prodding me with those awful tail blades and their guns. Guns called Shredders, that's what the Yeerk knew. I knew I wouldn't be hurt if they shot me with one, but it wouldn't matter, because I couldn't imagine keeping alive much longer no matter what.

Without saying anything to me, they led me down a short hallway, and even though the walk didn't take very long, I felt much better aboard this new ship. Soft grass lined the bottom of the ship, softer even than the grass I used to run in as a kid. The ceiling overhead looked like a pink sky, and even the air smelled fresh. For a moment, when I closed my eyes, I convinced myself I was still asleep by that cool creek in the clearing with the dead oak tree, and everything had just been an awful dream.

But as soon as I stopped to breathe, the man behind me tapped me again with his gun and led me to a small room, no bigger than a closet. There were some off-white, pod-shaped boxes stacked in the corner. I went inside, and turned around again. He seemed curious about me, excited too, but also afraid. The door slid shut automatically, and I decided I had no real choice but to sit and wait.

I wanted to sleep, but all the drugs still in my system made it hard. I wondered if this is how my mama had felt, wanting to sleep, but unable because of the drugs. I could see how adding more would seem to help. I wanted more, but I wasn't really in a position to ask.

So I sat there, teetering on the edge of sleep without being allowed to fall, for a couple of hours. I didn't trust the centaurs, which probably had a lot to do with it. But they weren't bothering me. They hadn't stuck any slugs in my ear, and one even came back and gave me a plastic pouch full of some kind of pureed wheat grass. It tasted like dirt, but it filled me up and seemed to settle my thrashing stomach, so I figured just eat it and hope for the best.

Finally, the female centaur came by. She opened the door and gazed down at me. I got up slow, watching her eyes the whole time. They looked sad and pitying. I didn't want her pity. Sitting there so long had turned all the tired I felt into mad. I glared at her.

She stepped back from the door and let me out. The male centaur was standing behind her, holding a small cube that glowed a dull blue color, watching me approach.

(Germodd, please. This is a really terrible idea,) the female said. I looked over at her, and she was wringing her hands.

(Calm yourself, Istreen. You will not be held accountable should something go wrong.)

Germodd walked over and presented the cube. He gestured for me to touch it. I eyed him real wary.

(Do you think it can understand language? How primitive is this race?) Germodd asked.

(The Yeerks' computer indicated that they are an industrialized civilization. It should be able to speak,) Istreen replied.

(Touch the device,) Germodd said to me. In my head, I saw an image of myself touching the cube. He was trying to coerce me!

I knew all about coercion, and I decided not to cooperate with them. I figured my best bet was to keep letting them think I was dumb. I stared at the cube without moving, like a dog staring at a leash the first time he's gotta be tied down.

Germodd sighed impatiently. Istreen kept pitying me. I didn't know what they wanted.

(Grab her hand, it appears we've got to do this ourselves.)

(If we can't even get her to touch the device, how are we going to get her to acquire me or even morph?) Istreen asked. (I don't think this is going to work, Germodd. This isn't worth breaking our most important law.)

(Don't you see, Istreen? If Escafil's technology works on a race so fundamentally different from ourselves, then it proves my theories on alien cultural acclimation are true! We can export the technology to formulate my device. After all, what's the point of a device that can acclimate different races to each other's customs if it only works on Andalites?)

(You could just test the device you have here, couldn't you? Do we really need to give it the power to morph?) Istreen asked.

(It's not ready. And this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Istreen.)

Germodd stepped over to me real slow, extending his arm so the device was inches in front of my face. Istreen walked over too, keeping her stalk eyes on Germodd and her main eyes on me. She looked like she was about to cry.

I didn't know what the device would do, but it seemed like the invention Germodd was talking about was harmless. And if he invented something to make it easier for different races to communicate, he wouldn't be all too excited about killing someone from a race he'd never met before, right? So I decided to touch the cube.

Germodd was surprised by my action, but held it out for me all the same. It glowed bright for a second, but then dimmed. Germodd pulled it away.

The two centaurs stood silent for a while, watching me real careful. (Did it work? Can she morph?) Istreen asked.

(Let her touch you,) Germodd suggested.

I walked over to the girl and touched her hand. It was cool, and a little smaller than my own. I felt a tingling in my fingertips, and her stalk eyes drooped. She pulled away and looked at me.

Germodd stepped over and stood in front of me. (It's clear you can understand us,) he said. (Picture her in your mind, and change into her. Quickly, now.)

Without hesitation, I did as I was told.

I had realized that the reason I was so scared and angry was because I was so defenseless. Without the ability to stand up for myself, what hope did I have? These centaurs not only had ray guns, but beautiful tails capped with terrifying blades. If they were really going to let me change into one of them, I wasn't going to be bashful. I wanted to level the playing field. I wanted them to know I wasn't going to lie down for them. They could point their gun at me and perform their experiments, but I wasn't a lab rat. I was a human, and the fact they didn't know that could really work for me.

I don't need to tell you how strange morphing is. It's like puberty in two minutes. Annoying and gut-wrenching, but not necessarily painful. It just makes you sort of sick to your stomach.

But soon, I was done. And I stood about six inches taller, seeing in all directions, with a beautiful tail blade attached to my back.

I struck.

I didn't look at what. I just struck.

And they blocked me easy.

(Get on her other side, Istreen!) The girl leapt daintily over and blocked one of my blows.

I hadn't thought over my plan so well. Just because someone can turn into Bruce Lee doesn't mean they can fight like him. And there were two of them. And they still had a gun.

Germodd took aim and fired. I don't remember anything after that, but I woke up in the same closet they let me out of. I was still changed into the girl.

There was a sensor on my head that started flashing when I woke up. Soon, Istreen opened the door and looked down at me, a little disgust now mixed in with her pity.

(You shouldn't have done that,) she said. (There's only a two hour limit on morphing. Now you're stuck that way. Like me.) She spoke the last sentence with disdain. She didn't like that she had been so crucial in the experiment. She was angry that she wasn't the only Istreen anymore.

(We were going to take you home,) she whispered, an edge of fury in her voice. (But that planet can no longer be your home.)

I felt a stab of grief, but to be totally honest, I wasn't that upset. Earth seemed so far and vulnerable now that it was being invaded. And besides, my life there hadn't been perfect or anything. Part of me wanted to go back and warn people, raise the alarm, be a hero. Another part of me wanted to hide somewhere I knew would be safe.

Since I couldn't really turn the ship around, I let them take me to my new home.

That was a planet that was about three weeks away. Germodd spent that time doing little experiments on me. He checked my metabolism, my heartrate, everything. He was curious about how an individual can survive the morphing experience without the benefit of years of somatosensic development. I didn't know what he was talking about, but he was keeping me alive, so I thought it best just to keep going along with it.

They dropped me off at a spaceport, paid a young cadet to take care of me, and left. I didn't plan on ever seeing them again.

The young cadet, having heard my situation, decided to pass me off to someone else. He said I needed a job, and since I didn't have many skills, nannying for veteran families was what he prescribed.

(And that's how I ended up here,) I told the strange, little girl with her big, watery eyes. Like Istreen, she looked up at me with pity.

(I've heard about _nothlits_ before,) she said quietly, (but I never thought I'd meet one. There's an entire department of the military devoted to the psychological trauma of becoming a _nothlit_.)

(I'm not traumatized,) I said to her with a sigh. (I actually kind of like it here.)

The girl smiled. (What better place is there?)

I smiled to her, and sucked on the grass with my hooves. It smelled nice. All the same, the opinion I'd given was not totally true. I missed Earth. I missed TV and the oldies radio station that my friend's mom listened to in the car, and my across-the-street neighbor who would always test out new cookie recipes on me and my sister. Food. I really missed food.

I sighed, realizing that right then I had a decision to make. I could miss Earth. I could spend all of my time yearning to go home, back maybe not to my life, but at least to my home. To traffic jams and alarm clocks and picnics and Christmas and sales tax. I could waste all of my energy wanting something that was too hard to get on my own.

Or, I could move forward. Up. Out. Wherever this was. I could do better this time than I'd done the last.

(What should I call you?) The girl asked. (I guess I don't have a mother—)

(Oh no, no no, don't call me that,) I said quickly, so surprised and scared that I almost laughed. (You already had one of them.) I averted my glance, cursing my own insensitivity. (I'm real sorry about that, by the way. My mama died too, a few years back.)

The girl's eyes narrowed in some emotion she was trying to hide. I felt sort of bad for hurting her feelings, so I said, (I know how to be a pretty good sister. How does that sound?)

Jennor shrugged, shaking off the sadness. (I guess I don't have a sister, either.)

I winced suddenly, realizing I actually hadn't been so great of a sister. But here, in my new up, out, and forward life, with this little girl on this strange planet, maybe I had a second chance.

(I don't know what sisters here do. Play with Barbies? Braid each other's hair?)

(What's braiding?) The girl asked.

(Here,) I said, bending down to pull three blades of grass from the ground. I held them securely in one hand, and with the other, wove outside strands into the middle. (Always into the middle, see? It makes a braid.)

I finished half of the braid, and gave the other half to the girl to practice. She learned fast and finished it in no time.

(Braid,) she repeated. In a flash, she suddenly imagined all of the different uses for the technique. Slings to hold ray guns, ropes and supports for makeshift bridges. Like telepathy, she showed them all to me in a quick flash, and I nodded, impressed.

(How do you do that?) I asked.

(Do what?) She frowned. (I just realized you're going to need an Andalite name, if you want to fit in here.)

(Andalites, is that what you call yourselves?) I asked. (Well, fair enough then. What's your name?)

(Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) she responded. (And you are Teresa Rerin, correct?)

(Yes. That's me.)

(Teresa is a foul-sounding name. I have heard the name Terenia before, does that please you?) She asked.

I was sort of offended, but shrugged in acceptance.

(Rerin is acceptable for your generational name...and for your third name, we shall use the name of Shamtul, in honor of the newest hero to emerge from _The Warrior Chronicles_, War-Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul.)

(So what is it again?) I asked.

The girl smiled, and bowed her head. (Welcome to Andal, Terenia-Rerin-Shamtul.)


	6. Chapter Five: Ax

Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill

Eighteen Years Later

The Animorphs and I stood within Cassie's barn. Our usual meeting place. The discussion topics were usual. The attitudes were usual. Marco was using the usual human coping mechanism called "sarcasm" to complain about a poor grade he received on a mathematics examination. Prince Jake ignored him, attempting to reclaim everyone's attention, as usual. Cassie was tending her usual patients, and Rachel's smile seemed out of place. Perhaps something Tobias was saying privately. I was not engaged in their usual discourse. I was distracted by the heavy Earth air, the humidity that made my fur cling to my skin, the foul heat that swirled and lingered around my neck.

It was all the usual.

Cassie's parents were attending a conference, allowing me the security of standing in my normal form. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the planks and made glowing patches on the floor. My eyes wandered helplessly, stuck in a space far too small for comfort. I rubbed my sternum. Stomach acid had begun to rise all the way into my upper body. I needed the grass of home. Earth grass had not been agreeing with me for quite some time.

"Anyway, that's settled. Ax, is that cool with you?" My Prince asked. I looked up at him and saw that all the Animorphs were staring at me expectantly.

(I am sorry, Prince Jake. I did not hear the question.) I responded, catching the sight of a small raccoon huddled in the corner of a wire cage.

The Animorphs seemed to have their own brand of thought-speech, and looked at each other, communicating in a language I was both too tired and too frustrated to decipher.

"I just asked if you wanted to come to the mall with us. Get a Cinnabon, or, you know, four. We're, um..."

"We're worried about you." Cassie finished for him.

"You've been acting weird, man." Marco agreed.

I turned a stalk eye up to Tobias. Surely he should have warned me about such an inquisition.

(I'm sorry, Ax-Man, they blindsided me with this before you got here,) he whispered to me privately.

(I see,) I responded. (I understand what you are saying to me,) I said to all the Animorphs, (but I do not require any assistance from you at this moment. I am perfectly content.)

"Tobias says you haven't been eating," Rachel said. "Now, I tried that for a while, and believe me—"

(Thank you for your concern,) I interrupted her. (Will there be anything else?)

"Well," Jake said, "are you coming?"

(No, Prince Jake. I am not.)

I walked out of the back entrance of the barn, and as soon as I was clear of the door way, I began sprinting back to the scoop.

I couldn't explain exactly what had caused my feelings of emptiness and restlessness. I had grown to love the humans, but I'd been alone for a very long time. I had thought about it enough to realize that I'd felt this way since Estrid had left. Perhaps I had what humans refer to as a "broken heart."

But that was not the only reason for my confusion and ambivalence. I'd lost more than just love, I'd lost the very reality of a companion Andalite, another of my race, someone I could speak to without explaining every simple ritual or taboo, someone I didn't have to wait for on an intellectual level. The humans were kind, but they were frustrating, and my ignorance of their culture frustrated them just as much. I longed for a compatible friend.

Of course, I was no fool. Fate had delivered me such a potential companion. Gafinilan could perhaps not be a friend, but I could certainly visit with him. Talk with him. Perhaps even reminisce about our time aboard the _GalaxyTree_. But not while he housed and protected that _vecol_. I could not associate with someone afflicted by such depravity and deviance. And I certainly could not sacrifice my integrity by acknowledging an invalid as an acceptable member of society.

I knew I was being selfish. There were much worse things Mertil could be.

But my selfish longings were irrelevant. I had other things to focus on. I had recently begun a training program that was designed to strengthen my tail and back muscles. Unfortunately, the only opponent I had was Tobias, who required a morph of me to spar. It was unsettling to fight my doppelganger, not to mention that he provided little challenge. Otherwise, I kept my muscles strong and blade sharp by slicing into Earth's hard trees. But even this could not last for long. I could not leave too many marks lest a Yeerk scout patrol find them and recognize what caused them.

So many caveats stopped every course of action I desired to take. Imperfect plans, immutable rules, and constant obligations frustrated me, leaving me impotent and impatient. I often felt the sudden and inexplicable urge to run into the human city in my Andalite form, free and mad and unstoppable. No Cinnabon, no matter how well-crafted, could help that.

And though my sadness could at times overwhelm me, it did not on the night I felt that distinct and wonderful rush of heat.

It was very fortunate that she landed in such proximity to me. I actually had the skill to help her. Both of my parents are doctors. While my mother chose to specialize in prenatal calcification deformities, my father was a field medic in the military. He didn't see much action before his term of service was up, but it gave him the requisite distinction to ensure that both of his sons received the best training. This training did not only include enrollment in one of the most prestigious academies on the equator, but he himself taught me as much about medicine as he could. Even before I left home, I had the training of a full nurse on Andal.

I felt a pang of homesickness as I recalled this thought. I never told the Animorphs about this skill set, about my father's involvement in my education. Unwise to burden them with entirely irrelevant information. There were no Andalites on Earth for me to use it on.

So perhaps it was irony or fate that brought the girl to me. But with every ounce of elation conjured by that rush of heat came an equal ounce of fear. Fear that I would find nothing but carnage on that ship. Fear that my skills at healing would be inadequate. Fear that I myself was no longer suitable as an Andalite, that I would be shunned and even punished for my wrongdoings on Earth.

But I ran across it nonetheless. And when I saw her alive, I couldn't tell if my hearts broke from sadness or burst in joy.

The medical kit was a fortunate find, a resource I was lucky to spot in a moment of such chaos and threat. The situation would have been entirely hopeless without it. I carried her as quickly as I could back to the scoop, rinsing her off in the river on the way, and went to work. Though I stopped most of her bleeding, the losses she'd already suffered forced me to work quickly and nervously. I set broken bones, I bandaged every cut and laceration I could find, and I even performed a small surgery to cinch off a hemorrhage where a rib had cracked into her stomach. Sweat beaded on my brow, and though my hands trembled at the beginning, I filled with a resolute sort of power and confidence, which I realized, even then, was not entirely mine.

Our brief encounter on the ship seemed to encourage me to work beyond my potential. I had never heard of what she'd done to me—downloading her own thoughts and memories into my mind, inviting me into her experiences. It was like a _hirac delest_ without a computer. I stared into those deep green eyes until they rolled back into her head, and all of my fear, doubt, and guilt melted away. She was the only thing that mattered. Every mistake I'd made on Earth, every feeling of depression and unworthiness I'd been buried under could be erased through her recovery.

She and I were alone for most of it. Tobias had woken up relatively late in the morning, unaware that a ship crash had even taken place. He understood that I was working, and had attempted to keep his questions to a minimum, but this proved to be very difficult for him.

(Do you know who it is? Where she's from? Did Estrid or Gafinilan say more Andalites were coming?)

(No, Tobias, I believe this is unrelated to either of them,) I said.

(Why?)

(I've never seen this kind of ship before. It was not produced by the military or any large-scale operation. This ship was home-crafted.)

(Andalites can just build ships whenever they want?)

(With the proper training, an Andalite can do almost anything.)

_Include save the life of this girl,_ I thought to myself.

(Where do you think she came from?) Tobias asked.

(I do not know. I didn't get a chance to download the ship's computer before I destroyed it.)

A sudden spurt of blood from a large artery in her arm shifted my attention.

(You destroyed the ship's computer? What about—)

I sutured the wound quickly and with variable skill. It left an ugly, T-shaped scar.

(Tobias, I am nearly finished, may I request 20 Earth minutes to ensure her survival?)

(Yeah, sorry. I need to go eat anyway. I'll try to be fast, so I can help if you need it.)

Tobias flew away, leaving me all alone with the girl.

I worked until there was nothing more to be done. Bandages and splints and dark, runny sweat covered most of her body. I gave her a small shot of adrenaline to ensure that her primary heart kept beating. I wiped the sweat from her brow with the same rag I'd used for mine, and her eyes opened.

(You finally came,) I heard faintly from below.

(I...) I didn't know what to say. I hadn't counted on the dose of adrenaline being enough to rouse her. But she gazed up at me through narrow, sparkling slits and smiled.

(I never said it, and I don't know why,) she breathed, (but I love you.) She was unconscious again, without giving me the time to respond.

I pulled away from her in surprise and embarrassment. It was an unexpected first impression, and I was almost too shocked to regain my composure, but it gave me an opportunity to survey my work. She was a mangled mass of shards of flesh, bone, and caked, sticky blood. But she was breathing. Primary and secondary hearts still working, though the third had failed. She would not last like this. But she was alive.

The adrenaline put her in a mild state of shock. Her breathing accelerated and sweat poured out of her. The IV I had given her to ensure that she wouldn't fall victim to something as elementary as dehydration had already been depleted. I sent Tobias for water and waited alone with her.

Hours passed, each more tedious than the last. The sun set and the moon rose, and Tobias and I sat in a stiff silence. I tried to stay awake, hoping that what I had done for her would wake her up soon enough. In complete and utter exhaustion, I sank to the ground, and rested my upper body against a tree. As my buzzing flesh succumbed to exhaustion, a deep feeling of failure seeped into my hearts, and I was sure she'd never wake up again.

(State your name and designation.)

The voice was cold and hard. My right stalk eye was sticky with sleep, but the other was already open, returning to true consciousness, staring at the girl, standing straight and tall, a halo of moonlight outlining her dark, rigid face from which two black shiny eyes watched, her strange, masculine tail blade twitching eagerly over her head, holding an old and rattled Shredder directly at my brain.

She was covered in reflective blood that made the moonlight bounce off of the intersecting planes of her body. Even through the darkness, though, I could see how hurt she was. She held her left foreleg, which had been shattered in the crash, mere millimeters off the ground. Despite the splint, it almost appeared like she was capable of using it. Her chest heaved regularly through broken ribs and punctured lungs. Scars from my unpracticed healing echoed all over her body. But she stood with such grace and poise, it was she didn't care about any of it. If she had invited me to run to the Yeerk Pool now and challenge Visser Three to the death, it would take me longer than a moment to refuse.

And from her gaze, from those piercing, flat eyes, I could tell that was all that she wanted.

(You woke up,) was all I could manage to say to the monolithic figure standing before me.

(State your name and designation,) she responded with the exact intonation she had used a moment before. No more urgency, no anger. Just a cold repetition. Had she even heard what I had said? Or was she so selective that she would only hear and respond to the information she sought?

(I...you need to morph, you were injured greatly in the crash. I know morphing to heal injuries is considered undignified, but your injuries are just too many for you—)

(State your name and designation,) she repeated again.

(Aristh Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill,) I breathed in defeat.

(Aristh Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill,) she repeated, keeping her gun poised and her tail twitching. (Where is your superior?)

(I...he...) I realized there was no concise way of explaining my situation, and the girl's eyes narrowed. (I don't have one,) I lied.

(Explain,) she ordered.

(War Prince Elfagor-Sirinial-Shamtul was my superior before our Dome Ship crash-landed on this planet. I was the sole survivor,) I said. She looked at me in suspicion. (He died,) I over-concluded.

(Yes, he did,) she agreed. I wanted to detect a hint of amusement or relief in her voice, but there was none there. She did not slacken her tail blade or Shredder. I began to worry that she actually planned to use them.

(Where are we?) She asked.

(Earth,) I gasped before thinking. Her eyes narrowed further. (North American continent, Western region. The country is the United States, the most powerful political entity on the planet. How did you find me?) I asked.

She continued staring at me with her main eyes, but her uncrippled stalk eye arched backward over her head. I followed its gaze to see Tobias directly in her line of vision. He stayed still, but the moonlight streaming through the trees provided more than ample light for her to see.

(Tobias, no!) I yelled as she whipped around with lightning speed and fired upon my _shorm_. A bright blue light lanced from the weapon, more powerful than I could have imagined. Excess energy bled through the trees, leaving a clean, cylindrical hole in the branches which burst into flames. It phased out thousands of yards into the atmosphere, leaving a clear trail to precisely where we were situated. Tobias was no where to be found.

My sight was entirely devoted to scanning the branches for cascading feathers or smoke or two dead bird legs clinging to a branch, but even despite my panic, I saw her wobble a little from the exertion.

She kept her main eyes on me, aware of everything I was. That she had just given our position to anyone watching within a 5-mile radius. That she had just fired upon one of my allies and friends. That she was willing to pull that trigger on me. If she had not already given off such an impression of emotionlessness, I could have sworn I saw her smile.

(Red-tailed hawks are a diurnal species,) she explained. (Tell me who I just fired upon.)

I glared up at her, wonder and fear quickly burning into rage and betrayal. (It's all right, I'm okay. I'm going to go get the other Animorphs.) I heard Tobias say to me privately. I breathed a sigh of relief.

She noticed this gesture and corroborated: (No, I did not kill him. Now you know that I will.)

_Some companion, _I thought. Any hope that this girl could become a trusted ally or friend ebbed away. I knew she felt threatened, and was just as alone at me, but she had just tried to kill my best friend with absolutely no basis for doing so.

I decided right then that I did not like her very much.

I continued to glare at her and she cocked her weapon and aimed it at me, preparing for another shot. (Tell me who I just fired upon,) she repeated.

(Tobias, wait,) I said to both of them. Tobias fluttered down to another branch close by.

(I didn't lie to you before,) I began. (I was the sole survivor of the _GalaxyTree_. But my brother...I mean, I met some human youths and provided the power to morph to them. I've been fighting along side them for over two years. I've taken the leader of the group, a boy named Jake, as my Prince.)

I breathed a sigh of relief that she did not immediately execute me upon this revelation, and watched her reaction with my stalk eyes. She seemed entirely unmoved.

(It is juvenile and unprofessional to consider an omission of truth as a form of honesty,) she said. She sheathed her weapon and turned around. She walked back into the scoop slowly, catching and throwing her weight. She bent down, and lifted the medical kit, and it swung weakly in her mangled arms. I heard a crack as one of her ribs buckled under the pressure of her stoop. She did not flinch.

(It was wise of you to take the medical kit,) she said, rifling through it slowly. (Unwise to view its contents so hastily.)

She shut the case and looked back at me with her glowing main eyes.

(How did you find me?) I repeated, speaking quietly, trying to keep the rage out of my voice.

(I do not trust you,) she stated. (I will divulge information at my discretion. You destroyed my ship, correct?)

(Yes, it was the only way—)

(Then I must settle here. You will not require the human prince any longer. Do not inform the human children of my presence here. That knowledge would only confuse their effort. I will work on my own,) she said.

(Wait, wait, wait, I don't know if I like that the other Animorphs—)

(You are not under my orders, To-bi-as,) she said, stating his name slowly. (However, I would advise that you obey them as well. Any result of a clear violation of Seerow's Kindness must be rectified. If they know I am here, I will have no choice but to kill them.)

(Like you killed me?)

(I have mounted one unsuccessful attempt to kill you. I assure you it will not be the last.)

Tobias cocked his head to the side and looked at me. (Ax, this is...)

I gazed between the girl and Tobias. I was frustrated by her ultimatums, and still recovering from the revelation that she would not be the companion I had longed for, but mostly just unsettled, that she not only attempted to convey power through such a mutilated, weak form, but that, to a degree, she succeeded. Both Tobias and the girl were staring at me, and though I saw no emotion, no impatience or fear or expectation in her eyes, I felt more of a compulsion to respond to her.

(Why can't Jake be my Prince anymore?) I asked. (He may be human, but I am devoted solely to him, and would prefer to remain as his _aristh_.) Tobias fluffed his feathers in assent, but the girl only continued to stare.

(Andalite law dictates that marooned soldiers must ally themselves, despite all prior circumstance. I outrank you. _I_ will be your prince.) Tobias speared his body downward, leering at her in disgust.

I didn't know what to do. I did not like her, I did not trust her, I didn't even know her, but if she outranked me, I had no choice in the matter. No visitor to Earth before had shown an interest in replacing Jake as my prince. I suppose I should have been glad that her decision implied some permanence to her presence, but I felt vaguely sure that I did not want her around anymore.

(Will you devote your honor, service, and life to me, if fate decides it is your time to diminish?) She said, beginning the bonding ritual. I scowled. I gazed up at Tobias for help, but there was nothing he could do save attack her, and as tempting as that was, it was not something I was willing to answer for later. Besides, my disdain for her was overwhelming, but it was not complete. She was still very, very beautiful.

I gazed at her uncertainly as she removed her Shredder from the holster that hung tightly across her narrow waist. Her tiny shoulders were high and tight, her back and neck perfectly straight. Her frame was small, but it supported all the raw mass and power it could. Dried blood reflected silver moonlight off of every subtle curve, every defined line. Her fingers with thin and boxy, long and too elegant to bear such a weapon of destruction. She was small for a female. Stunted almost, like the strength she bore had been cultivated too early, but somehow she seemed as big as Visser Three. Every breath she took pulled skin over her ribs, moving like ripples on a pond.

My eyes moved up her body, to her head, her long jaw supporting wide, high cheekbones, that seemed to reach through her face like some insect's mandible, her eyes settled too big and wide in between. Too open. I stared for moments, searching for that quality, that pained vulnerability that had defined her not hours ago. But there was nothing now. Just a flat, uninvested gaze, watching without caring.

My eyes looped down her back and up her tail, held high and proud, and I realized the size of her tail blade was no illusion or misperception. It curved long and dangerous, pink and shimmery, and she twitched it as though it weighed nothing. She noticed my gaze and she curled it down subtly, closer to her back.

Though she was lethal and severe, clearly made for killing, there was some essence that tied her qualities together into something attractive. Something I could not see, something that I could not name or pinpoint. Buried beneath her threatening, emotionless exterior, something forgotten and perhaps irredeemable.

(I…) I began, gazing up at Tobias guiltily. (I devote my honor, service, and life to you, if fate decides it is my time to diminish.)

(Ax?) Tobias asked. I turned my stalk eye away. I did not wish to answer him.

(Very well, then. I require information from you, _aristh_ Aximili.)

(What is it you would like to know? Sir?)

(The Yeerk force in orbit seems substantial. I assume they have a fortified base on the surface. Where is it?)

(They have an underground Yeerk Pool.)

(I see. You will take me there,) she ordered.

(I...yes, I will. Shouldn't you morph, though? You're greatly injured, I don't know if...)

(Do not patronize me, a_risth_,) she warned. (Humans are the dominant species on this planet, correct? I will require human samples with which to perform the _frolis maneuver_.)

(Okay,) I blurted, still overwhelmed with everything.

(Do not touch the medical kit again,) she said softly, unrelated. Her mind moved fast and clear, almost robotically. Like a slide projector.

(What happened to you?) I asked with a nervous laugh. (You've changed so...)

She blinked, like she wasn't prepared for that question. (Your focus is misaimed,) she said.

I shook my stalk eyes, taking the opportunity of her confusion to backtrack a little. (May I request that we converse in Form Beta? The formality of Alpha is difficult to uphold and used generally only in battles. Are we in a battle?) I asked it rhetorically, but I was truly curious.

She did not respond right away, but then she said, (Your definition is incorrect. To forgo any formalities in a war is to accept defeat.)

She kept staring at me, like there was one more thing she wanted me to bring up. I was frightened to. I thought she might kill me.

(Then why did you say that you loved me?)

A slight dilation of her eyes indicated that this was not what she was expecting. (I did not say that,) she responded, total honesty and, to my relief, a little bit of surprise and disquiet in her voice. She turned her gaze from me. (I've never used that word.)

(I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...that was inappropriate. I don't even know your name,) I confessed.

She straightened her back and sheathed her weapon. I had finally hit the question she was expecting.

(My name is Warrior Jennor-Elacable-Barees, _aristh_. You will call me Prince.)

She finally began to morph to Hork-Bajir, leaving her broken form behind. Once morphed, she walked into the darkness of the woods and said nothing more to me.

I rose to my hooves, watching her as she went, wondering who she was and how she had changed so considerably in such a short amount of time. The promise of mystery and allure had been replaced by the promise of threat and violence. My fascination had turned to fear. I was disgusted and elated by her. I was glad she had come, and sick from the responsibility she'd unleashed on me. I didn't know what to think of her anymore.

(What a piece of work,) Tobias huffed.

(Are you going to inform the other Animorphs of her presence?)

(What do you think?) He spat. I believe he meant it as sarcasm, but I responded as if he was sincere.

(I think you should not,) I said. (She seems capable of following through on her threat to kill them.)

(She missed me, and I was right in her sights. If she wants to play that game, I think we'd be a fair match.)

I shook my head. (I ask as a favor that you allow me to handle this for now,) I said. (I do not want to put you in danger, and I feel she is my responsibility.)

Tobias scoffed. (Why?)

(Because I saved her. I unleashed this threat onto all of you. You've come to my aid more than I could ever ask. Let me deal with this. I know I can, Tobias. Please.)

Tobias glared at me with his cold hawk eyes. (If she does _anything_ I don't like…) he began.

(Yes.)

(All right, I'll give you a couple of days. But they need to know about her, Ax. This is the kind of thing that could severely mess stuff up for us.)

It was agreement enough. I knew I'd need longer than a couple of days, but Tobias could be convinced. I felt confident I could keep her a secret.

Tobias seemed mildly curious but mostly put-off. I wanted to discuss her with him, but it appeared that he was already annoyed. I was still so confused. She had seemed so feminine, flawed, and alive for such a short amount of time, and now she was no more than a militant machine. When had that changed? And why? Perhaps there was some way to discover what had happened to her. Perhaps, someday, she'd tell me. But for now, she was my Prince. And I had no choice but to obey.


	7. Chapter Six: Jennor

Chapter Six

Jennor

Sixteen Years Earlier

I was nervous.

After two years, my primary training was complete.

And even though my father was a veteran, it was unlike anything I expected.

Every morning for the first year my father and I would gallop across the sloping landscape, ripping divots from the grass, heaving in the morning air. He ran so fast, I had to stretch my young legs to the limit, but I kept up. And he smiled.

He would leave at once when we arrived, and I would work with the man I referred to simply as Trainer.

I would step out into the middle of the training yard, surrounded by the larger boys who still hadn't quite grown accustomed to my presence. We would wait for Trainer to arrive, with his loping, exaggerated canter, and he would pace slowly in front of us, sizing us all up. And there was always a stalk eye reserved solely for me.

After some cutting sarcasm or jarring insults delivered in Form Alpha, we started with warm-ups which I usually found tedious. Sometimes he made us warm up even longer if I was particularly impatient. Then, we moved to tail-to-tail training, which was always my favorite. Despite the playful jeers he received from our classmates, Cristex had become my default partner. He was committed and honest, but sometimes, to my irritation, he went easy on me. If I was irritated, Trainer would pull me out to demonstrate a new technique on me. I got injured sometimes, but never as badly as that first day. And now I could morph, so nothing he could do to me was fatal.

Well, almost nothing.

After tail training, things opened up a little. We were often given free time to strengthen our weaknesses or receive coaching from the various specialists on staff. Sometimes, we would simply run for hours. Rarely and happily, we would shoot practice Shredders at the targets. But many times, Trainer would pull me aside and train with me one-on-one.

Even though I saw him every day and spent hours at a time with him, I never quite grew comfortable with him. He always stared at me with those dark, unfathomable eyes, judging me and thinking thoughts I could not see. I kept trying to read him, but like father, he'd found some way to block me. I could read his face and posture, but not his mind. It made me feel exposed and blind. There was always something in his gaze that sent a part of my mind into panic and alarm, sending those electric chills up my neck, but I always suppressed them. He was a good teacher, and I had become a fairly decent fighter under his guidance. And besides, if something was really wrong, Father would have noticed it and done something about it.

But even he had become a less prominent figure in my life.

There was a four-week break in between the first and second year of training. I had wanted to spend that time with my father—to show him what I had learned, to practice with him, to gain experience from a differing opinion than Trainer. But he spent very little time at home. He left before I woke up the first week, and didn't return until after I fell asleep, however much I struggled to stay awake. The second week, I made an effort to wake up before he left.

(Where are you going?) I asked from deep within the twilit scoop after pretending to be asleep one morning. I watched him through the narrow opening below the canvas awning and above ground level. He was bathed in morning sun, appearing as a menacing silhouette. He had been getting ready to leap into a gallop, but I halted him.

(Go back to sleep, Jennor,) he said, voice like stone, turning an inscrutable stalk eye around to me.

(I was wondering if I could show you—I mean, if you could show me—)

(I won't be back until late. Don't wait for me,) he said.

(Father,) I said.

(Sir, Jennor,) he corrected.

(I...)

(Yes?)

(Never mind.)

I didn't see him at all for the next two weeks.

Terenia was there, however, and she looked after me. She rubbed my shoulders and kissed my cheek, and did a strange thing where she ran my stalk eye through her fingers. She wasn't afraid to touch my hands, either. It took me a while to stop resenting her presence, but I began to like Terenia. I admired her. I couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to acclimate to a new culture, to adapt in her situation, to live all alone on a new planet, but she did so with a degree of optimism, courage and dignity. Before long, I realized that she and I had grown close. That I liked her very much. That I needed her, almost more than anything. Perhaps we were even _shorms_.

She liked spending time with me. I told her everything I could about Andal; the things she would need to know to become a convincing Andalite. I told her the little stories and superstitions that Father had told me, I taught her common greetings and taboos. I think I bored her most of the time, but she always had more questions to ask.

In return, I was selfish enough to ask about her old life, and she was kind enough to indulge me. She told me human stories about three "bears" and some wicked burglar named "Goldilocks," an abnormal human with some genetic deformity that caused her hair to grow at an accelerated rate named "Rapunzel," and the first successful cryogenically revived human named "Snow White." Earth seemed like a strange, wonderful place, and though I knew I had no control over where the military would send me when I was finally old enough to be assigned to active duty, I couldn't help but hope that maybe I would end up on an exploratory mission to deep space, pointed toward that arm of the galaxy, with anthropologists, geologists and economists that would delight in the study of humanity.

For the second year, I mostly ran to camp alone. Terenia went with me sometimes, but she did not fly over the fields with me like Father did. At most she would trot, too tired and irritated to go any faster. Driven by excitement, I would always leap ahead, but she'd keep her pace, forcing me to wait for her to catch up.

Sometimes Father was there when I returned home, dragging mud, sweat and dust into his pristine scoop. I would upload the events of my day to him before he could hold up his hand to stop me. Mostly he shook his head at me, annoyed by my boisterous aggravation. But sometimes he smiled. Sometimes, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. When I noticed it, he would look away and make some excuse to step outside, but those were the moments I lived for.

And it had all come down to this.

I stood among a crowd of classmates, waiting for a list to be posted. A list that would probably only contain a couple of names. Maybe more. Possibly none. A list that would contain the names of those cadets lucky enough to gain admittance to the equatorial officer's training program.

It was the only chance I had to get out of the mountain range and into the flat, opulent gardens of the equator. The only chance, my father kept reminding me, to show the world what I was made of. If I didn't get in...

Well, I wouldn't worry about that. I was going to get in. Trainer had so much as informed me. A coy little smile, a sly little nod. He had pulled whatever strings he found necessary to pull. But what if he didn't pull them hard enough?

(Hey, Jennor. What's the news?) I turned a stalk eye to see the figure of Terenia cantering down to meet me on the practice lawn. I was surprised. Even though Terenia had said she was coming to wait for the results with me, I hadn't actually expected her to come.

(I don't feel well,) I informed her.

(Butterflies in your stomach? Don't worry about it. Just imagine that everyone is naked. Oh, right, they already are.)

When Terenia was nervous, she would often slip into strings of Earth idioms that my translator didn't handle very well. Most of the time I would just let them go, but this time I was curious.

(What are butterflies?)

Terenia rolled her eyes slightly, annoyed that I had chosen to ask this time. But, nonetheless, she knelt down and allowed me to press my cold hands against her temples.

Terenia and I had discovered this secret connection very early. When she thought about something while I was touching, or at least very close to her head, I could see her thoughts as she controlled them, to a much more acute degree than normal. Any series of images, emotions, ideas or memories that passed through her mind streamed directly into mine. However, no one has complete control over the flow of their thoughts, and sometimes I saw things that Terenia did not want me to see.

An image of Earth flashed in my mind's eye, like a memory I'd long forgotten. I had become accompanied to many of its facets. But this time, all I saw was a pretty garden with soft, green grass. Flowerbeds echoed around the lawn, stuffed with a wide assortment of plant life—orange and fluffy, blue and straight, yellow and elegant. All sorts of insects—yes, that's what a butterfly was—hovered over the flowers, pollinating them. Andal didn't have insects. These insects flew from flower to flower, sipping up nectar and picking up pollen that they would deposit on the next flower they landed on. Yes, a symbiotic connection, that's how the flowers reproduced. Some of the insects were yellow and fat and made buzzing noises as they flew. Others were long and narrow with four transparent wings. And then butterflies, yes, butterflies. As beautiful as the flowers they fed on, bright Earth sunlight reflected off their cripplingly large wings, covered in scales as small as dust that made beautiful, iridescent patterns. I was strangely threatened by the other insects, the...yes, the honeybees and the dragonflies. But not the butterflies. They were peaceful and harmless. And their wings fluttered when they flew.

(You get it?) Terenia asked, stopping the thought and bringing me back to Andal. (If you had a butterfly in your stomach, it would feel ticklish almost. That nervous feeling.)

(I think I know what you mean,) I lied. Having never studied humans, or been one myself, I could not imagine the feeling she was describing. Andalites feel nervous in their shins and shoulders, not in their stomach. And right now, my shins and shoulders were tingling tortuously.

Terenia laughed half-consciously. (When do you find out if you got in or not?) She asked.

(Within minutes,) I said. I wrung my hands together nervously and distracted myself by remembering that any opportunity to warm them without looking too conspicuous was good. They were almost warm enough to touch someone without suspicion. I smiled at my own ingenuity.

(Nervous?) Another voice behind me. I turned a stalk eye and saw Cristex, smiling warmly.

I smiled back at him. (No. I don't know. Yes,) I said, wringing my hands extra tightly.

(Don't be. I know how much Tuxebi has taken a liking to you,) he said with a strange, indiscernible tone. One of his stalk eyes wandered over to where Trainer was standing. He was watching me through gleeful, narrowed eyes.

(Are you nervous?) I asked out of politeness. Cristex wasn't a very strong fighter, and even when he was training seriously with me I found him nothing of a challenge.

(No. It is clear that I was not accepted. I never really desired to be, either. There is a fair amount of prestige that goes along with it, but I still wish to become a doctor. I've been accepted to a medical apprenticeship program not too far from here. I think I'll start there for the new term.)

(Congratulations,) I said with a bright, sincere smile. I was pleased and a little jealous that Cristex already knew he was getting what he wanted. But I supposed my time was short. He bowed his stalk eyes to disengage from me and began walking toward the administrative scoops.

(Who is that?) Terenia asked me privately.

(He's just one of the boys in my class,) I explained. (Why do you ask?)

(No reason,) she said, sliding her eyes up and down him.

My shoulders and shins suddenly burst in electric burrs, adrenaline pounding through me, and I roved my stalk eyes to find the cause. A man was making his way to the middle of the training ground, holding a small computer that doubtlessly contained the names of the students admitted. In a flurry of nerves, the young men all around me suddenly swarmed him.

I had expected as much, but hoped that perhaps I would see the messenger before any of them did. Terenia had distracted me, and she knew that, and touched my shoulder and smiled apologetically.

I waited as patiently as my shins and shoulders would allow. One by one, the boys went up to the list and ran their fingers down it, drooping their stalk eyes and tails and walking dejectedly away, allowing another to fill their place. I waited at the end, not because I didn't think I could butt my way in, but because I was afraid how ferociously my impatience would overtake me.

After what felt like hours, with Terenia's hand still firmly planted on my shoulder, it was my turn to check.

There was only one name on the list.

And it was not mine.

It felt like a blow to the temple. My shins and shoulders were bathed in ice, my tail and stalk eyes fell toward the ground. I was shocked. Already I was trying to think of ways to appeal it, to move forward despite this verdict. I was in denial. But then the reality became clear. And I felt betrayed.

Trainer had lied to me.

(I'm…Jennor, I'm really—)

(Congratulations, _aristh_ Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) a cold, smooth voice sounded in my head. I turned a flaccid stalk eye to see Trainer standing behind me, black-blue eyes smiling strangely. He had approached me silently. I had not seen him coming. (Your father can call you "little _aristh_" now in all sincerity, no?)

(But, sir,) I said, turning my other stalk eye back to the list. Trainer chuckled in his silent, smug way.

(I would not lie to you, Jennor. I assure you that you were accepted, regardless of what that list says.) My shock turned to confusion. I gazed back at Terenia, who was watching Trainer through narrowed eyes, arms settled hard across each other.

(Why wasn't my name on the list?) I asked.

(Internal politics, Jennor. Boring adult stuff. Just trust your Prince, no?)

Trainer handed me a small computer drive with the military's official seal on it. (Your acceptance notification,) he said. (Take it home, read it at your leisure. I will see you back here in two days, no?) He smiled and touched my shoulder, holding me for a second too long. Then he let go, nodded to Terenia, and sauntered away.

(You will be a War-Prince in no time at all. I can see it now,) he said as he walked. (A few years at Officer's Training, and then your very own Dome Ship. My finest pupil, no?)

(God, he gives me the creeps,) Terenia shuddered. (Why wouldn't your name be on that list if you were accepted? You're not training with him, right? I mean, he's not going with you, is he?)

(Oh, no no, I don't think so,) I said, though I realized I wasn't sure. He had said "my finest pupil" as though our time together wasn't over. I felt a cold shiver run up my neck again, and shook it off.

There was nothing more to be done at the training camp, except retrieve some paperwork that needed my father's signature. I received dubious glances from the young cadets working office detail, but they handed me the paperwork and eyed Terenia peculiarly. She smiled back at them.

The computer drive informed me that I would need to return to camp in two days. Terenia and I had no choice but to return home.

I galloped out of the training camp like the impatient child I was, longing to tell my father the good news, despite the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Terenia took the subtle hint and decided for once to keep up with me.

We tore across the sunny landscape, both the elder and younger suns shining, unopposed by cloud or atmosphere. I breathed out my uncertainty and felt free air on my skin for once. For today, I did not have to worry about performance, grades, fear, death, or fighting. I could run through the hilly slopes like an Andalite should. Eating grass, filtering moisture from the damp earth, absorbing weightless sunlight. For today, I was an Andalite, not an _aristh_.

I closed my eyes as I ran and breathed the fragrant air. I could tell where I was going just by the changing shape of the landscape. (Don't do that, you could hit something!) Terenia yelled, breathing hard. I opened a squinting stalk eye in her direction and laughed.

Soon we reached the height of the peak that rose above our scoop. I looked down, surprised to see Father standing within it. His arms were crossed out in front of him. I couldn't see him very well, but I could tell he was upset. For a moment I considered avoiding him, waiting until his mood softened to deliver the good news. I could only surprise him once. I wanted it to count.

But Terenia came up behind me, breathing loudly and slapping me hard on the shoulder. While I normally found her touch comforting, I was suddenly infuriated that she broke my thought. I rolled my shoulder to remove her hand. I looked down, and both of my father's stalk eyes were looking up at me.

I scowled at Terenia who raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. Father didn't say anything to me, even though I was within spatial limits of his thought-speech. I slowly approached him, making my way down the hill.

He kept watching me as I approached, curious but uninvested. He stood within the shadows of the scoop, and light filtering through hit the contours of his face hard, outlining the stark angles of his skull.

(You came back soon,) he noticed.

(You were gone when I left. I didn't think I'd see you until tonight,) I said. I realized I was defending myself. He hadn't accused me of anything.

(I want to know if you got in or not,) he said simply, taking slow, cautious steps towards me. He unfolded his arms and reached his warm hands towards mine. I was wearing the holster he had given me. I always did. He didn't let me take the Shredder. He said I was too young. I wanted to. I didn't feel like a complete warrior without it.

His fingertips, callused and veined with age, were mere inches from my own.

(I did,) I said, more calmly than I felt. He pulled his hands away.

(Good,) he said with a heavy sigh. (That is very good, Jennor. _Aristh_.) For the first time in a long time, I heard emotion in his voice. Mostly…relief. But also, for some unclear reason, a sliver of disappointment.

Terenia had followed me down. She stayed out of the scoop, watching us both carefully. She looked suddenly upset.

(That is good news,) he repeated, voice becoming solemn and emotionless. He turned around and grabbed my Shredder. He handed it to me.

(This is officially yours, then,) he said. (Treat it well, _aristh_.)

(Yes, sir,) I said, running my fingers over its dented surface.

(You son of a bitch,) Terenia suddenly said behind me. She stepped into the scoop, fists balled strangely. Father and I both watched her advance. I thought she might punch us. I had discovered what punching was by touching her temples. She hadn't meant to show me.

(What did you call me?) Father asked. He wasn't threatening. Just curious. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was a bad thing to say on Earth. And even though she hadn't really said anything, I knew exactly what she was doing. And I thought of about four ways to stop her.

But I didn't.

(I said you're a son of a bitch,) Terenia repeated, clarifying nothing. (Do you want to know why I called you a son of a bitch?)

(I suppose—)

(I called you a son of a bitch because of how you treat her,) Terenia said, pointing a rigid finger straight at me. Father looked at me with accusation in his eyes. I did nothing but gaze back.

(How is it that I treat her?) My father asked, now amused.

(You've brainwashed her into thinking that she needs to kill herself to get you to love her,)

(Love her,) my father repeated indiscernibly with a laugh. This snapped me out of my inaction, and I began to move toward Terenia.

(What four-year-old girl wants to be a warrior?) Terenia asked.

(Stop, Terenia,) I said, stepping in between her and my father. She grabbed one of my shoulders with both hands and pushed me out of the way. I hadn't expected this. I stumbled over gracelessly and fell to the ground.

(A near-mute, near-_vecol_ criticizing my parenting technique? Your stupidity gives you bravery, ignorant human,) my father said, stepping toward Terenia. I kicked out my legs and tried to get up.

(What parenting? You're never here. You never talk to her. You don't do anything but mope and leave! I look after her!) Terenia countered. My father laughed.

(A primitive human as the expert on Andalite child-rearing—)

(Can't you even see the damage you've done to—)

They both continued arguing, thought-speech melding together like white noise, while I finally pulled myself to my hooves.

I backed away and watched them. Terenia was getting irate, but my father remained composed. She threw her hands up in anger, a gesture I could only assume was human, because no Andalite behaves that way. Finally, though, he smiled. And she stopped yelling.

(—for you are nothing but a wounded child yourself. All you women are alike, you think you can change a man's behavior and beliefs.)

My father walked out of the scoop slowly. Terenia glared at him as he walked around her.

(Do you even _want_ to see her again?) Terenia asked.

Father stopped next to me and gazed downward. I looked up into his eyes. For a brief, wonderful moment, they were smiling.

(I want what she wants,) he explained. (I want her to be the greatest warrior that the galaxy has ever seen.)

I smiled up at him, and he kissed my face. It left me unsatisfied. I turned a stalk eye to Terenia. She was infuriated. Father walked out of the scoop and ran, rising over and under the shallow hills like a boat bobbing in water. I watched him as he flew.

(Why did you do that?) I asked slowly, watching Terenia with my stalk eyes. She rubbed the back of her neck in another futile human gesture.

(I was just trying to look out for you, Jennor,) Terenia sighed.

(You do look out for me,) I said. (But you just betrayed me.)

Terenia frowned. (Is that what you really think?)

(I don't know how it works on Earth, but here you're not allowed to accuse people whenever the desire strikes,) I said softly. (Especially falsely.)

(I still don't think—)

(Stop thinking, please. It does you no good,) I said, looking in her main eyes. She was very sad. I felt the cool stab of guilt. (Is this just about you wanting me to stay?) I asked.

(Jennor...that is a big part of it, I will admit. I mean, who will talk to me when you leave? But it's more than—)

(It's only two years, Terenia,) I said. (Remember how fast these last two went?)

(Jennor, don't kill yourself just to get him to love you,) Terenia finally shouted, defiantly. (It's not worth it. Believe me.)

I sighed. I was angry, but I was also tired. I didn't want to deal with her right now.

I didn't say anything more to her, and left in a fashion similar to my father. But before I started running, I looked back at her and smiled.

Two days later, it was finally time for me to leave. I had spent those two days charged with excitement and nervousness. So much was about to happen to me—I was going to fly in my first space vessel, I was going to visit the equator, where all the rich and privileged lived. I was going to be a warrior soon, and then? Maybe a Prince. Maybe even a War-Prince. There was nothing stopping my potential. I could be anything.

Father chose not to walk me to the training camp.

(I am required to rendezvous with you in two weeks,) he promised in a harsh voice. Then he softened. (I want to make sure you'll settle in okay. But for now—)

(Errands?) I asked. That's what he said he was always doing.

He smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek one last time. (You'll fit in perfectly, Jennor. You have my faith entirely.) I thought I felt my primary heart churn and grumble, but I knew I was not that weak.

Terenia walked behind me when we left. She seemed sad, and was very pale for some reason. I decided not to ask her about it. I wasn't angry at her anymore, but she had been acting much differently towards me since she confronted my father. I didn't understand the reason behind her actions, and I did not understand what consequences she thought they'd earned.

We arrived at training camp early in the morning. The other boy who had been accepted was already there. I did not recognize him from any training group that had just graduated. He was tall and strong and much older than the boys I had been training with.

(He's going to officer's training?) I asked no one in particular.

(Welcome, _aristh_,) a familiar and frightening voice rang out. Trainer was half-engaged with a handheld communicator, watching me with the one stalk eye he always reserved for me. (That is no _aristh_. Rexxir is already a warrior.)

(Rexxir? But his name was on the list, the list said he was going…) I protested. Terenia stood close behind me as Trainer approached.

(Don't worry about a thing, Jennor. We'll be leaving soon,) he said. His dark eyes turned toward Terenia. (Is the nanny tagging along?)

(It's all right, Terenia,) I said. (You can go home now.)

Terenia walked over to me, glaring at Trainer with her stalk eyes.

(If it gets too hard, or too scary, it's okay to come home,) Terenia said. (I'll still be here. I'll see you again, okay? I promise.)

(It won't be too hard or scary,) I said, wondering why she was being so condescending. I kissed her cheek, and she thought of my favorite Earth image—a beautiful girl with long, red hair, holding a human infant in her hands above her head, swinging it around carelessly and lovingly while the infant opened its pink, crooked mouth, screaming laughter.

(I love you, Jennor,) Terenia said suddenly. The words surprised me, and I wasn't sure how to respond. But somehow, without really meaning to, I said, (I love you, too.) She wrapped her arms around me in a strange human gesture—a hug—but I did not pull away. I felt a stab of something weak and sad in my main heart. It was just then that I realized how much I would miss her.

Tuxebi came over and grabbed my upper arm hard. Terenia released the hug.

(You're taking her?) she demanded.

(Don't worry, nanny, I'll just be driving. She'll have a new trainer when she arrives at the camp. Isn't that right, Bilven?)

Trainer turned a stalk eye to look at another trainer who was loading the other transport with Rexxir. He and Bilven exchanged a strange, guilty look and nodded.

Terenia slumped while Trainer loaded me onto the ship. I had the only thing I would need—my holster and my Shredder—and everything else would be taken care of for me.

(Are you ready, Jennor?) Trainer asked. I looked out the hatch at Terenia, who would not leave. I waved at her, and she managed one final smile.

(Yes, sir,) I answered. I breathed deeply, preparing to take off. Trainer closed the hatch and glanced at me before heading over to the control panel.

It was a while before we took off. Trainer kept whispering to Bilven on the communicator, a large flat screen in the middle of the control panel that he'd plugged his portable one into. I had a little time to inspect the ship before take-off. From what I could tell, it was an older model with two quarters behind the bridge. Two small engines were on either side of each private bunk. I hoped the exhaust ports functioned optimally, or else it was going to get hot. There didn't seem to be good compensation and life support systems. No holographic imagery of the homeworld, no running water save a small, stagnant pool just under the control panel. The panel and walls were white and smooth, and dry grass lined the floor. Overall, it was uncomfortable but manageable.

Soon I felt the engines roar to life, and the ship hovered off the ground.

It didn't take us long to leave atmosphere. I looked down at Andal, expecting it to bend beneath me like a rapid, spinning conveyor belt while we rode just out of the atmosphere to the equator. But we didn't bend. The purple sheen of the grass became less and less pronounced as we flew farther away. I could see the shape of the mountains converge from single monoliths to a massive, veiny range as we got ascended higher and higher. I spotted my favorite mountain shaped like a tail blade, but soon it seemed smaller than a claw.

(Why are we flying so far away?) I asked Trainer. (Shouldn't we have turned—)

I was preoccupied with the beauty of my first space flight. With excitement, fear, and my own selfish desire to succeed. I felt a tug at my holster and I looked up at him. He was holding my Shredder.

(You worry so much, _aristh_,) he said as he raised the Shredder high over his head and brought it down hard over my skull. I tried to block it with my tail, but I was too slow. I didn't feel its impact, but I did feel myself crumple into an unconscious mass of flesh just as we made the jump to Zero Space.


	8. Chapter Seven: The Empress

**I just wanted to thank all of my reviewers really quick, especially metamorphstorm, voodooqueen, and birdie num num. You guys each offer a unique perspective, and it gives me a lot to think about as I go through this. Thanks for being so loyal! I really do appreciate it.**

**Things will hopefully pick up, starting with this chapter. I hope you enjoy!**

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**Chapter Seven

The Empress

It had taken two years.

One year to locate and apprehend an Andalite vessel.

Months to invent and perfect the technology to dupe Andal's penetrating, sensitive scanners. A task that, under normal circumstances, would be impossible, but the arrogant Andalites thankfully programmed them to alert only for a full-scale attack. One tiny fighter in all of that space might go unnoticed. It would be like finding a single, intrusive grain of sand in an hourglass. The Andalites' tool of choice seemed to be the vacuum cleaner, instead of the pair of tweezers they required.

Weeks to memorize the proper procedures and learn conversational Andalite dialects so as not to appear too suspicious while we cruised down to the surface of the purple, double-crowned planet.

Days of hard work on my part, consisting of twenty-hour shifts and aggressive, exhausting torture sessions, employing my professional skills on my first ever Andalite captive, to collect access codes to get us through the twenty-leveled shield that protected the Andalite solar system.

Another act of arrogance. Typical of the Andalites to expend manned resourced parked outside our beloved homeworld rather than to use those warriors to protect their own civilians. The shields were no joke, of course. Twenty bulbous, concentric spheres, carefully avoiding natural heavenly bodies that those hypocritically sentimental fools adored, surrounded the system for lightyears, each requiring a different code to penetrate. The code would enact a pre-routed jump through Zero-Space to the next rendezvous gate. I did not want to imagine how much energy the Andalites expended, keeping those routes from shifting.

If the code was not provided correctly, a signal would pluck the closest Dome Ship from Zero-Space to combat the intruder and approximate the required oppositional force. A ridiculous security system, but it had to be efficient somehow. Maybe the efficiency lay in carelessness. Maybe they were so arrogant they really thought we would never attempt to break through.

All of that, and two years wondering how the hell we were going to get out of there once we had her.

I admit I procrastinated for a while. For two weeks, I chose to ignore the task I was set with, instead continuing my work in intelligence, conducting droll and useless meetings with the Council, standing on the Bridge of my ship with nothing but the child on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about her. Wondering what secret power she possessed that could possibly make her so dangerous. Wondering how I would deal with the guilt associated with murdering a child.

But this thought made me smile. If there's one thing a Yeerk is good at, it's dealing with guilt.

Talking to Nagrit eased my tensions. He understood my misgivings, empathizing with equal parts needling that the job needed to get done. But he wasn't what finally made me start.

I did not sleep at all for those two weeks.

I hung in my Hork-Bajir harness, yes, but staring into the darkness in my quarters offered no respite. Since the acknowledgment of my task, I'd felt a strange and foreign stress in the pit of my stomach. Not the usual nerves, the usual self-convincing sureness of failure, the usual low self-esteem and worry. This was something different. Something alive. Something that squirmed and reacted, moved and breathed. Something I could not quell, something that seemed to speak to me.

_Stop wasting time_, it said. _Start your work._

So finally, one day, while running my claw through the same nervous divot I made in the control panel on the Bridge, I clicked open Jennor-Elacable-Barees' file.

And suddenly I understood.

It was like, for a moment, the thick veil of the universe that surrounded all its energy and gave it shape was lifted, like I could see through the deception of flesh and form and understand my nemesis on the deepest possible level. She was light. Just a fiery orb of light, burning and bursting forth and turning back in on herself, like an overactive sun. A sun that was at terrible risk of going supernova, I could see, at the most destructive time possible. And though the energy that her flesh encapsulated was dangerous, it was still very, very extinguishable.

She was not a child. She gave the impression of innocence, but now I had seen the power that festered behind her eyes. She was a merciless, deadly villain. Her infantile stature, brightly smiling stalk eyes, and soft, naïve expression were all a ruse. She stood tall and proud, in that child's body, a cunning and wonderful actress hiding her incredible talent behind a convincing costume. There was no doubt. There was nothing gray or deplorable about the situation. She would destroy the Empire. I was more certain of that fact than anything.

And I began my work.

We had to purchase an old Andalite fighter off the Skrit Na, a group I detest working with. Money was no issue, but they kept finding excuses to keep it from us. They needed to clean it, to purge the computers, to replace the tractor beam. When I asked when it would be ready, they hesitated. For a moment, I thought perhaps they understood the depth and danger of the situation, the position of terror and gravity they had put themselves in. Sell the Yeerks an Andalite fighter, and the Andalites will destroy you. Go back on a deal with a Yeerk...

If only we could infest them and be done with it.

But we got our fighter, after I conversationally reminded them that our Dracon cannons could bisect their largest space station in less than five minutes.

I had never been inside an Andalite ship before. Though I was born before the start of the war, I didn't receive my first host until after we'd already engineered our own ships from the Andalites' gifts. The Skrit Na had replaced the meshy, grass-covered floor with alloy plating, but the ship still reeked of rotten plants and stale sweat. I choked back my disgust and breathed through my mouth.

No matter how civilized and advanced the Andalites considered themselves, they failed to realize that they still lived as livestock. Grazing, herding, feral beasts, sheathed in malodorous bodily fluid, traipsing in their own organic waste. They nauseated me.

The ship was a great success, but Nagrit and I were careful in our planning, tempered in our self-congratulations, and considered every contingency. The access codes to penetrate the shields surrounding Andal were the hardest to come by. Capturing our Andalite prisoner was another stroke of good luck. He was on a solo survey mission, and had crashed into an asteroid in a neutral zone. He lived on his grounded, damaged ship. Subduing him was too easy. Every system of his we needed to be inoperable was inoperable. His tail had snapped in the crash, and he didn't even have a Shredder to commit suicide with.

Regrettably, after I finished torturing him for the access codes, he expired, which made the Council uneasy. It also made them uneasy that torture was necessary in the first place.

He could not be infested.

We tried fourteen different Yeerks. All from different pools, all exhibiting different traits. Each had crawled into his ear canal like normal. Thrashing like a bronco, the Andalite would calm for a moment, but only a moment. Then the Yeerk crawled back out, falling to the ground with a wet, dead smack.

I did not understand it. It frightened me. An Andalite had already been successfully infested. What was different about this particular specimen? Was it some genetic mutation, a caustic acidity level in the brain, or insufficient auditory canal diameter? I allowed the corpse of the Andalite to be autopsied. No scientific answer returned.

But the task at hand relinquished my need to worry about that. We had gotten what we needed from him, even though he failed giving us what we wanted. And soon, Nagrit and I, each in our Hork-Bajir forms, prepared to take our Andalite fighter fitted with the most state-of-the-art cloaking and undercover technologies, and depart for the Andalite Homeworld.

"Are you sure that you are required to perform this task yourself? I can get you the best Taxxon pilot in hours, perfectly—"

"No," I said with force but understanding. I was busy recalibrating the engines, still trying to optimize our exhaust ports, unwilling to sacrifice sufficient amounts of trace elements that would indicate where the fuel had been processed. "Thank you, Sub-Visser. This is my mission. I am required, both by my own integrity and the powers that be, to perform it myself."

"The council feels it is unnecessary for you to perform this task. Anyone can learn what we have learned about the girl. We even employ experts in the field of Andalite culture. Visser Three—"

"You know better than to mention Esplin to me. He's not doing this."

"No, that would be impractical. They know what he looks like," Nagrit said. It was true. News of the first Andalite host had spread in the Electorate. Pictures of Esplin's face labeled "enemy number one" had been posted everywhere on their intelligence grid. One of the most practical applications of having an Andalite host—the ability to perform espionage and gain classified intelligence—was null and void. It made me hate him even more.

I gazed over at Nagrit. If I had been in any other form, I wouldn't have noticed, but I saw genuine concern in his eyes. The inconvenient sexual spark that existed between his male host and my own suddenly flared. I quieted it. Turned back to my engine repair, and focused on keeping sweat from beading on my forehead.

"This mission has a high chance of failure, sir. It's never been attempted, never even dreamed before. There is enough risk involved as it stands. Why add to the risk by sending the most important Yeerk in the Empire? Why risk the chaos, the threats to internal security that would occur in the event of your death?"

His eyes locked with mine. He was right. But his logic was not entirely cold.

"We will not fail," I said.

"But if we fail—"

"We will not fail." Nagrit sighed and decided to give up.

Even of this, I was sure. I wondered how we would return from the Andalite homeworld, but I did not worry about it. Nagrit had come to the same question, and though I hated the word, I told him just to have faith. Faith that we would return alive, with the most valuable prize in the galaxy. Faith that the doors we'd opened would not shut once we were inside.

Unfortunately, that word alone was not enough for the Council.

I stood in front of them all, wrist blades exposed in rage. They had voted, nearly unanimously, to send one of the pilots that Nagrit had suggested. I hated that they had arbitrarily taken over the first project that I'd been assigned by that vague, enigmatic, extra-galactic power. I hated even more that Nagrit had gone behind my back to get them to do so.

"I assure you, this will not end badly. The only way it will end badly if it is not I who goes. I am required—"

"Who requires you?" Garoff 315, a Hork-Bajir, asked. "Vague whispers from deep space? An unidentified deity figure who commands our puny little army without ever having introduced himself? Don't tell me you actually believe in the will of this higher power, Councilor Eight."

I sighed deeply. I didn't believe in it. But I needed to continue pretending, just to defend to my argument.

"I've already completed all the preparations. If I do not perform this mission soon, I know that the opportunity will vanish."

"How do you know that?" Sessil, the sole human controller, scoffed. "Because an oracle told you so? Dreams and visions and prophecies, coming from the commander who champions herself the most rational leader in the history of the Empire!"

Loud, brash laughter came from much of the Council. I fumed, hating how good Sessil was at unapologetic, overt hypocrisy. I looked over at Nagrit, who was hunched against the door in guilt and disappointment.

"You're absolutely correct, Councilor. A rational leader would heed her advisors and perhaps even accept their terms. But a rational leader would also make sure that her perspective is understood just as well," I said.

"Then explain it," Stebbis 521, a Taxxon Councilor, hissed.

I hesitated, collecting my thoughts, and suddenly realized I couldn't. I couldn't explain the sense of dread I felt picturing anyone but myself completing this mission. I couldn't explain unfathomable dreams and nightmares that had plagued what little sleep I had gotten since this whole mission began. And I couldn't explain that strange feeling of nervousness, that bundled up, twisting, snake-like pile of rope in my stomach, completely autonomous from my own fear, completely alive. It spoke to me, and I listened. It delivered orders, and I carried them out. And there was no way I could explain it.

My hesitation lasted long enough for interruption. "Very well, then," Sessil said. "We will send a Taxxon pilot with two experts in the field of Andalite culture. Visser Three will consult on the project."

I let out an uncontrolled scoff. As if this situation could get any worse.

"Is there a problem, Councilor Eight?"

"Whatever the Council decides," I said, leaving my meaning ambiguous.

I marched to the Bridge, thinking only about the small divot in the control panel my claws had made. I'd never felt rage like this burn within my Hork-Bajir form. I wanted to impale every single host I passed in the hallways. I wanted to cut a random Taxxon and watch as every other Taxxon host within 50 feet came running. I wanted to spill blood, to unleash chaos, to beget hell.

But all I had was that one little divot.

Nagrit trailed behind me, aware of my fury for him. He said nothing, and allowed my anger for three days. Until my next feeding cycle. Then he spoke to me.

"It will take about six weeks for the pilot and Andalite anthropologists to get ready," he said.

"Make sure they memorize what she looks like," I said. "Make sure they get it right."

"They'll get it right, sir. How could they get it wrong?"

I felt the pile of rope tighten and contort at this question.

I waited the six weeks, sleep dwindling down to nothing. I distracted myself with a pair of rogue Taxxons who had expressed sympathy for the freedom movement on the Taxxon homeworld. They were a pair of lovers that I had actually compelled to eat each other. I was particularly proud of that.

Soon it was time for the old Andalite fighter to depart. I found myself worrying about every iota of work I had put into this. Had I been too quick to accept the access codes we had received from the Andalite prisoner? I knew torture wasn't an effective means of interrogation, so why did I believe him? Were the Skrit Na secretly working with the Andalites? Had they sabotaged everything on the ship? Would it even fly?

But the ship did fly. It flew, and it stayed in contact with us until it reached the first level of the shield, 40 light years from the planet itself. In that time, Visser Three reviewed protocol with the Taxxon and the Hork-Bajir. The fake Andalite pilot we had created through careful artistry in holographic form was impeccable. The thought-speech transmitter we had installed into the better of the two anthropologists was flawless. Visser Three said that he himself was convinced, and Alloran had been a very experienced warrior.

But I couldn't sit still. I couldn't do anything but imagine every step in the process where something could go wrong. I was sure, once they broke contact, that they had been killed. Whenever my communicator beeped or barked, it took every ounce of willpower to answer it, since I was so sure it was a message of mission failure. But I kept finding ways to convince myself to keep faith. And when I did, for a moment, the snake would purr in assent.

We had only to wait now, until my ship returned to the massive armada we'd formed, parked just outside the range of the scanners of the farthest Andalite shield. Close enough to catch them if they could get away, far enough to keep any attention from ourselves, which was difficult, considering we had two Pool ships, thirteen Blade Ships, and enough Bug Fighters to appear as one giant, liquid, moving entity. Impractical, yes, but very intimidating. We hid inside a nebula. They would be fools to engage us if we simply turned around and left.

The whole process only took six hours. Though there were twenty gates to penetrate, it appeared the Andalites were efficient in the process of permitting entrance. Negligent is probably a better word, considering what it was they were letting through. But six hours after my team left, alarms began to blare and our scanners detected my ship, scarred with Shredder fire, blasting its way backwards through the useless, one-way mirror Andalite shields. I took my Blade Ship out front and, like a mother lion protecting her cub, allowed the single fighter to dock. An off-white, aesthetically curved armada worthy of such an advanced, nervous race flew to intercept us, but stopped once we were scanned. Neither group moved, so I signaled the farthest Pool ship to break formation and turn around. The Bug Fighters, Blade Ships, and remaining Pool Ship followed suit. I was the last to leave.

Though there was no movement or expression in the fleet, I could tell they were confused. Why had we Yeerks come all the way here, broken through their defenses, just to kidnap who, by now, they probably knew to be a single Andalite girl? Would they investigate from their end? Would they try and discover who she was, and attempt to retrieve her?

I didn't know. I knew we would do a better job of protecting her than they did. But we wouldn't need to protect her for long.

I couldn't help but feel the thrill of success as Nagrit and I scuttled through the halls, up and down dropshafts, thrashing our tails from side to side like adolescents. I'd just done the impossible. I'd just invaded the Andalite homeworld. No, it had not been a full-scale assault, but at the very least I'd asserted the threat that we still presented to the Andalites. I loved quashing their pride. And I regretted not seeing the looks on their collective faces, not relishing in that grim acknowledgment of our power.

Nagrit and I hustled inside the docking bay. The ship was still cooling off, emitting that sinking, dry ice, blue-tinged steam. One of the Hork-Bajir had already disembarked and looked nervous. Visser Three had managed to stay in contact and was watching the events unfold from a viewscreen.

"Well? Where is she? I want to meet her. I've spent two years getting her here, let me see her."

"Sir, we have, um..." the Hork-Bajir seemed at a loss for words. I felt the ropes tighten in my stomach, and my bowels felt the effects. I looked at Nagrit, whose excitement was waxing.

"Did you retrieve the Andalite girl?" I asked.

"Yes, we retrieved an Andalite girl." The subtle article change did not escape me, but I chose to wait until I had more information before accusing him of anything.

"Then let me meet her."

I went inside the putrid Andalite ship without permission, which I did not need. I forgot that sometimes. The Taxxon pilot was binding a stinking, bucking Andalite form with energy ropes. He had managed to staple her tail to the wall of the ship, the heat from the ropes burning raw, bloody little lines across it, and I saw her tail blade twitching desperately, small and pink and lovely.

I walked in further. The girl had balled her hands into fists and flung them desperately at the Taxxon, causing strange popping sounds against his shell when she hit him. Her hooves, slightly more dangerous, sought to impale him, but lying on the ground as she was, her angles of attack were negligible.

I stood before her, just behind the Taxxon, waiting patiently for him to finish. Suddenly, she yelled.

(Who the hell are you? What the fuck is going on?!) I was mildly shocked for a moment, not that she spoke, but that she had taken so long to. The coarseness of her language also unsettled me. Swearing did not seem like an Andalite characteristic.

"You are mine, Jennor-Elacable-Barees, and now I intend to kill you."

She stopped thrashing and suddenly looked up at me. (Jennor? You want Jennor?)

The rope suddenly untangled and melted with a sickening splash in the pit of my stomach.

(I mean, uh...yeah! I'm Jennor! What do you want with me?!)

As soon as sudden, crippling fear washed through me, the deep, burning rage returned and flared like a nuclear blast. I pushed the Taxxon aside and grabbed the roving mass of his jelly eyes. I pulled them out and shoved them down his throat and he screamed in his high-pitched, reverberating voice.

I exited the ship and looked at the Hork-Bajir anthropologist. He threw his hands up in surrender. I ripped a Dracon beam from a guard and shot him in the head. It disappeared, leaving a cloud of green, emulsified blood, and he fell to his knees and toppled over, jerking away the last bits of life trapped in his limbs. Even in my rage, I realized that worse than committing murder, I had just contradicted one of my most precious tenets of leadership.

But I could not stand betrayal. And I'd been betrayed by all of them.

I glanced over at Visser Three, who looked at me pleadingly. (They got back, my job was completed satisfactorily, please let me—)

I shut him off. I didn't want to hear incessant pleading yet, because I knew that's all I would be hearing for some time.

I went back inside the ship. The girl's eyes traveled between me and the remaining Hork-Bajir frantically. He looked up at me with a strange, passive calm.

"Tell me what happened," I demanded of him.

"We arrived at the coordinates you set for us, from her personnel file. We scanned for female Andalites. There was only one within the target radius. So we took her."

"What about the training ground? You knew about the training ground." I spoke slowly, through clenched teeth, making sure I was understood.

"We scanned the training ground. It was empty. There were no females anywhere around it."

"And the area between the training ground and her scoop, you scanned that as well?"

"There was only one possible target, sir. And that target was acquired."

He gestured to the squirming girl. Even without any prior knowledge of Andalite biology, I knew she was too old. She was no child. She could bear children.

"Have you debriefed her?" I asked absent-mindedly.

"We chose not to engage the target in conversation—"

"I mean, have you infested her? She indicated that she knows Jennor. Maybe she knows where she is so we can return and retrieve her."

"After this escapade I do not believe it will be possible to return to the surface of the Andalite world," the Hork-Bajir honestly appraised with more courage than I could imagine. I smiled at him and shook my head.

"You didn't infest her, then?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. Go get someone to restrain my host."

"You'll do it?"

"I should get to do something, shouldn't I?"

He walked around me and within seconds, there were three Hork-Bajir holding my host—two on either arm, and one with his wrist blade pressed deeply within my neck. Another two Hork-Bajir unbound the girl from the wall, holding her tail carefully, lifting her and holding her tightly, rebinding her legs and arms with the energy rope. I didn't tell them to be careful, and some of their blades sunk into her soft flesh. I wasn't thinking. I was too angry to think.

With her ear against mine, I released control of my host of ten years and traveled into the mind of the helpless, frightened girl.

Everything that hit me was a surprise.

The girl wasn't frightened at all. She was angry. I calmed her adrenal glands, slowed her pulse, and stopped production of sweat. I took control of the wonderful tail blade, flexing those steel muscles like I was born with them.

But then I realized that she wasn't.

The girl wasn't an Andalite. The wounds she had acquired in the transport could not be morphed away. She was a _nothlit_: a poor, human girl who'd found herself caught at the wrong place and time once too many. I only momentarily mourned the inability to morph. I quickly reviewed the events that made her into an Andalite. I became lost in the story, trailing lines of logic that ended in strange places—her birthplace, her mother, the planet called Earth. The Andalite mind was disorganized but efficient. Nothing was linear or chronological, but it all made sense. I don't know how long I looked. I traveled through a history of abuse, fear, and anger, a life without love or comfort. I grew to understand a character who'd summoned courage from nothing to run away and try again. The girl had a sad, hopeful past.

But suddenly I stopped traveling those streams. There was more important information I required.

I did not allow myself to return to reality yet. I knew those Hork-Bajir were probably having problems with my host. Or maybe not. I had been her Yeerk for so long that perhaps she didn't even notice I had left. She hadn't really resisted in years. She had become such a part of me, and perhaps that meant that I was more her than she was.

But this girl was much different. It had been so long since I'd had a new host. Memories reach out and slap you like a cold splash of water. Everything is foreign and unexpected. I knew my Hork-Bajir host—what she wanted, what she feared, what she blamed, what she loved. Terenia was a stranger.

_Terenia._

A name she had only recently acquired. A name she had acquired from a girl named Jennor-Elacable-Barees.

(Yes,) I said outloud to the struggling Hork-Bajir. I looked up at them.

"You know where she is?" Nagrit asked. I did not know when he had come in. I did not know how long I had been inside Terenia's head. But I kept rifling.

Terenia knew a lot about the little girl. She had lived with Jennor and her father, a cold veteran named Sofor-Elacable-Halladran. He was old, much older than I would have expected. Boys at Frahola's had fathers dozens of years younger than Sofor.

Jennor had been Terenia's charge. She had grown to love the little girl, grown to care for her as more than a requirement of her forced servitude. Jennor thought she wanted to be a warrior, but Terenia knew what Jennor really wanted. It made Terenia sad. She'd desired and sacrificed for something similar in her past.

(Get out of my head, you bitch,) Her voice rang in my mind. I smiled, having expected this to happen much sooner.

(Terenia-Rerin-Shamtul,) I said with a grateful laugh. (This can be easy or it can be difficult. It is up to you to decide.)

(You think I'll just give you permission to take me? Enslave me?)

(You know that's what we do. Jennor already told you all the relevant information, muddled by her side's perspective. That's not why you're angry,) I teased.

(What do you want with her?) Terenia asked in a shaking voice.

(I want her to die, Terenia. I respect you too much to lie to you.)

She began screaming and howling and imagining terrible things and remembering painful memories and using every weak weapon in her limited arsenal. I tuned her out. I was good at that. And I kept looking.

Jennor had spent two years in the training program, under the tutelage of the strange, unsettling man named Tuxebi. After two years, Jennor was supposed to go to an officer's training program on the equator. She had left four weeks ago.

_That's where she is_, I thought bitterly to myself.

But...no. Jennor's father had contacted the program to ensure Jennor's arrival, to confirm his visit two weeks later. The clerk was confused. Jennor was not on the list of accepted cadets; he had never even heard the name before. _But surely there was some misunderstanding_, Terenia remembered. _Jennor and one other boy were admitted from Frahola's._

_Yes, Rexxir,_ the clerk had said. _He began training last week. There is no Jennor-Elacable-Barees on record._

Sofor spent two weeks investigating with no luck. He did not say anything to Terenia, but after two weeks, he appeared to give up. He knew something, and Terenia tried to taunt it out of him, but he would not budge. She did, however, piss him off enough to kick her out.

_Piss him off_, I mused, pleased that I had already integrated substantially into Terenia's psyche.

But that pleasure wore off soon when I suddenly realized what all of this meant.

Terenia knew Jennor, and her knowledge of the girl would be integral in helping me destroy her. But there was one vital piece of information that Terenia lacked.

She didn't know where Jennor was.

I had to start all over again.

I opened my eyes. My previous host had been taken away to be reinfested. Although I didn't order them to do this, it was clear to all of them that I'd accepted a new host.

"Well?" Nagrit was the only one brave enough to speak.

(We keep looking,) I said plainly. (And I get to be in charge of this from now on.)


	9. Chapter Eight: Jennor

Chapter Eight

Jennor

The Earth planet was suitable.

The boy was skeptical. The hawk was furious. I could not allow them to become problems.

I morphed my injuries away using my Hork-Bajir morph. Exploration was my next priority. The boy had mentioned a subterranean Yeerk Pool. I could not focus on that at the moment. The amount of vegetation on the planet indicated that water was abundant. Finding a source of water was high on my list of priorities. The grass seemed suitable. Finding a place to feed was another.

I was aware the hawk was following me. I allowed him to think I did not know.

The Earth trees were dense and immobile. They were covered in thick, fibrous cellulose. It provided primitive protection against the merciless elements. I ran my newly healed fingers over them. I noticed a long gash in one of them. It revealed a yellow, moist inside. A tail blade had caused it. The boy was skeptical, frightened, and restless. A dangerous combination.

Some time passed. I came across a clear stream slicing through the terrain. Trees gripped its banks with hard, strong roots. The water quivered in the moonlight. I wondered if it was potable. I scanned the stark banks with my stalk eyes. Hoofprints lined the edges. I inspected more closely. I saw hoofprints in the riverbed as well. This is where the boy drank.

I noticed my thirst. I set my hooves. I leapt into the water. It was deeper than I'd anticipated. The water splashed loudly around me. I scanned the banks again for an easier way down. A flutter of feathers told me the hawk was still watching me. I did not look at him.

I filled my thirst. I walked over to a bank I noticed was less steep. I sliced into a tree root with my tail blade. I anchored myself as my hooves dug into the clingy, cold mud. I was out in thirty-three second.

Such a length of time was unacceptable.

I noticed the trees became sparse beyond the river. I cantered carefully through them. I saw a clearing. The hawk had flown ahead of me. He watched me from a single, dead oak tree in the meadow. His eyes glowed yellow.

(What if I said you can't stay here?) he asked. It seemed the deception was over.

(You bear no authority over me,) I reminded him.

(You think I can't threaten your life? You think you're the only one who gets to do that?)

(You are permitted to threaten it. Can you follow through on that threat?) I asked. I scanned the meadow. I took a bite of the grass with my front hoof. It was not the grass of home. It was rough and bitter. It was suitable.

(I've never seen you fight,) the hawk admitted.

(Hope you never do,) I said. I began galloping through the field.

I watched the hawk with my stalk eyes. I scanned the field with my main eyes. I became aware of a feeling that I had seen a meadow like this somewhere before. A distant memory. Perhaps not mine.

Terenia. Terenia had been to a place like this.

I ate my fill of Earth grass. I decided I had recovered enough from the crash. The hawk was still angry. I did not ask him where to procure a human morph.

The humans had written literature, crafted films, and were aware of the threat and possibility of extra-terrestrial life. This did not mean that they would be rational about witnessing my presence. The amount of Yeerk specimens on Earth was unknown. I did not want to expose myself to that threat quite yet. I decided I could not delve into civilization to procure a human morph. My samples would have to come from rogue humans traveling alone.

The forest seemed a logical place to start.

I had read about activities called "camping" and "hiking" in my studies. These activities were often performed by rogue humans traveling alone or in small groups. These humans required a fair bit of strength and conditioning to perform these activities. They would be suitable candidates for a _frolis maneuver_.

I left the meadow. The hawk watched me go.

For a few hours I came across no human activity. The night air was quiet and still. I began to wonder if I should reevaluate my plan.

I saw a trail of smoke rising from the trees about three quarters of a mile from where I stood.

Humans.

I resumed my gallop. Soon I was close enough to see them. They did not look threatening. I could not see any apparent weapons. They were not hunters. I immediately ignored the thought that they were Controllers. A Yeerk would never travel this far from civilization and his Kandrona supply simply "for the fun of it."

I was certain I would frighten them. I was certain I could outrun and subdue them if necessary.

I approached slowly. I would rather not frighten them. I would rather not subdue them. I did not know why.

I got closer. The situation became clearer. One was a male. Loose-fitting, white fabric hung off his shoulders and down over some kind of soft, rectangular platform. He was lying on top of a human female. The fabric covered them both. Tangled limbs were evident beneath the fabric.

They were mating.

I approached more quickly now. The female turned her head around. Her eyes were small but wide.

"Dave, do you—stop, David—do you see that?" The female asked. The male human stopped rubbing his face into her neck and looked up at me.

I acknowledged the humans with a slight nod.

The male began to laugh. This surprised me.

"You told me this wasn't laced. I mean, I'm not averse to the idea or anything, but if I knew I was going to hallucinate I would have brought some Pink Floyd or Lewis Carroll picture books or something," He muttered through wet, glomping mouthfuls of her flesh. He continued rubbing his face into her neck and chest.

"Wait, stop! I mean, if you see it, and we both see it, then maybe it's real!" The female exclaimed.

"Rupa, I'm close, can we just finish?" The human male asked. Males are often undeterred by logic when they are mating.

I was now only a meter or so away from them. The female watched me curiously. The male was too interested in the female to divert any attention. I decided to acquire the female first. I touched her face with my fingertips. It was scathingly warm. She fell into a trance. I moved on to the male. He, too, fell into a trance once I finished. Acquiring more than two specimens is normally suggested for a _frolis maneuver_. I did not want to risk exposure or waste any more time.

I had procured a human morph.

I had completed my initial tasks. I decided it was time for the boy to show me the entrance to the Yeerk Pool.

I ran back to his scoop. When I arrived, he was conversing with the hawk. It was clear they were talking about me. They both watched me as I approached. Their eyes were too wide.

(I wasn't sure if you were coming back,) the boy said. His tail fidgeted. I kept a stalk eye on it.

(I require the location of the entrance to the Yeerk Pool,) I explained. I entered the scoop. I grabbed my Shredder. I opened the medical kit. I removed my utility belt. I put both aside.

(It's still rather early,) he said. (Most of the entrances are in places with normal hours of operation.)

(What are normal hours of operation?)

(Well, humans, like hawks, are a diurnal species, and at night they...sleep.)

(Where is the Yeerk Pool?) I asked again. I was impatient with his tangential explanation.

(Underground,) he said. He was repeating himself unnecessarily. I felt heat rise in my face. He was staring at me. He was not blinking.

(I know,) I said, adding some force to my words. (How do I get there?)

He blinked.

(There are many entrances around the city,) he explained. (There are two in the mall. When does the mall open, Tobias?)

(Eight,) the hawk said with a hard voice. The boy turned a pleading stalk eye up to him.

(The stores don't open till ten, though,) the hawk explained further.

(How far away is it?)

(Flying, only twenty minutes,) the boy said. (However, you'll need a human morph to gain entrance.)

(That I have,) I said simply. (I do not have a morph capable of flight.)

(Then take the bus,) the hawk said bitterly. The boy frowned at him.

(Tobias, do you think it is acceptable for the girl to acquire a traveling morph in Cassie's barn?) The boy asked.

Alien expressions are normally difficult to read. I believe the hawk was appalled.

(Are you KIDDING me?) He asked. (She threatens to kill Cassie and you want to invite her into Cassie's home?)

I wondered if threatening the Animorphs was the best idea, given the information available. I decided at the time it had been a suitable solution.

(She needs a flying morph,) the boy said weakly. He looked at me and smiled. Heat spread into my face again.

(She got a human morph on her own. How did you do that, anyway? How many people did you have to kill?)

(None,) I responded. I believe the hawk glared at me. (Very well,) I continued. (The "mall" does not open for another five hours. I will spend that time procuring a flying morph. You will be ready to go when I return.)

I grabbed my Shredder. I began heading back out into the forest.

(Wait,) the boy said cautiously. He cantered forward to meet me. (Would you like some help?)

The hawk leered.

(That is unnecessary, _aristh_,) I said. (Prepare in whatever way you find suitable.)

The boy rubbed the back of his neck until I could no longer see him.

Finding a flying animal was more challenging than finding the humans. Animals do not leave trails of smoke. It seemed the hawk had carved himself a rather large territory. It required a few minutes of hard running before I started sensing other birds of prey. I listened carefully in the trees for fluttering wings and dynamic branches. It was still mostly dark. A silver gray emerged in the east. Most of the infra-red light I saw was organically-based. I scanned the trees carefully for almost two hours. I saw a nest.

There was no movement. I did not want to shoot it down until I was sure that there was some sort of bird inside. The sun broke the seal of the horizon. I saw a curious head emerged. It was capped in speckled feathers and a sharp yellow beak.

I dialed down the power of my Shredder and fired.

Nothing happened. It was in increasing need of a new fuel cell. I had not been willing to perform such a risky procedure on the ship. It still had a few months of power left. I would need to prioritize that.

I fired again. A bright blue beam of light leaped out of the gun. The angle of its ascent had been carefully planned to avoid most interference from branches. The beam hit the bird in the head. It tumbled out of the nest. Its wings got caught in some branches about twenty feet up.

I sheathed my weapon. I expanded the circumference of the holster. I morphed to Hork-Bajir.

Wrist blades hooked into the moist tree bark like a spade through freshly tilled dirt. I easily made my way up the tree. I extracted the bird and went back down.

I demorphed. I acquired it. I secured my gun in my holster. I morphed into the bird. I flew back to the scoop.

The morning was cool. It was difficult to fly. The Shredder and holster were heavy in my grasp. It was clear that this bird hunted much smaller prey. I landed after flying about 500 meters. I demorphed in order to shorten the time of my return journey.

(Oh, you're back,) the hawk said with a note of dejection. Still nearly a mile away, I had reached the range of his visual acuity. His form could see much better than mine. I saw him and the boy after forty-seven more seconds of hard running. (Did you get that Goshawk?)

(What time is it?) I asked a few moments later. I entered the scoop. I placed my Shredder and holster within. The hawk was uninterested.

(Almost 9:30,) the boy said. He tapped on a large, rectangular device fronted with a glass shield. Within the shield, humans obscured by solar interference sat in a room. A narrow orange bar on the bottom presented relevant information, including the time. It was a view screen.

(Television,) the boy explained. The word was familiar to me. (One of the primary media through which humans communicate.)

The boy had not morphed to his bird form.

I waited. I looked into his eyes. He seemed uncomfortable.

(Do you want to leave now?) He asked timidly.

(Yes, _aristh_.)

I placed my Shredder and holster back in the medical kit. I closed it and slid it under a large, soft rectangular structure folded 90 degrees by a steel frame that faced the view screen.

(You're not bringing your Shredder?) The boy asked.

(I do not plan to fight,) I said. I began morphing. The boy packed some things in a small zipper bag. He morphed. He grabbed it with one of his large talons.

The boy was required to fly a mile higher and in front of me. He did not want to appear conspicuous. The only option was not to appear at all. I watched his vector changes carefully. The sun had begun heating the Earth below. Flying was easier. He seemed to struggle with the weight of his pack.

Soon he began making large circles. He was descending to the ground. He dove into a small area between two buildings. I followed him.

(We walk from here,) he said. The area was unoccupied. I though demorphing was a bad idea. I had little choice.

The boy hopped up to a green, metal box with a ribbed, black lid. He looked around for human activity. Satisfied, he hopped down and demorphed. I followed suit.

He morphed to his human form which was sheathed in strange skin. The bottoms were black and tight. They reminded me of the loose fabric I had seen on the male human I'd acquired. The top was white and plain. It did not extend much past the middle of his upper arms. He looked at me expectantly.

"Well, go ahead. Haaaay-duh," he said, speaking through his strange human mouth. "I'll get dressed. La. Ssss-uh."

I performed the _frolis maneuver_. I morphed to my human form.

The _frolis maneuver _is not difficult or artful. One simply must imagine the strands of DNA integrating themselves together. Appearance is arbitrary.

The boy stooped behind the dumpster. He pulled a brown paper bag out from behind it. He placed the smaller bag beside it. He dug through the larger one while I morphed. To my surprise, he put on more loose skin. I had a revelation.

Dressed.

Clothing.

I had researched the matter extensively. I had not understood the concept until that moment.

I finished my morph. For the first time, I examined the human form.

Its upper half was similar to my own. It was about 15% larger. The skin was dark tan. The arms were filled with natural muscles already much larger and stronger than the ones I worked to obtain in my own form. Short, strong, three-jointed fingers capped the arms. I slid my warm, sensitive hands over the rest of my body. On my bald chest were two strange lumps of flesh. I could not imagine their purpose. I did not like them. I felt strangely imbalanced due to the width of my hips. I looked down at my legs. They ended in two flat, strange-looking appendages.

Feet.

I wiggled my toes to test their strength. They managed to account for the loss of balance, both due to the hips and the two unsuitable legs.

I bent my knees.

I stooped down.

I tested my balance and strength.

A waft of hair blew in my face. I realized long, curly strands of it were free to impair my vision. Another problem I would need to solve. If only I had my tail blade so I could cut it off. A bit of it stuck to my lip. I had to open my mouth to excavate it.

A strange and debilitating sensitivity existed inside of the mouth. I could feel the individual strands of hair against my lip. I was overcome with sensation as I tasted the air. It tasted of fuel exhaust and dust. I breathed in through my nose. The power of scent was greatly improved from my Andalite form. It seemed to exist in an older part of the brain. More primal and raw than the Andalite sense.

I ignored the problems with the host and overcame the feelings it spawned in me: fearlessness peppered with caution. Happiness peppered with uncertainty. Everything was a contradiction.

I felt a wave of discomfort and looked up. The boy was staring at me. I felt cold and ashamed. I did not know why.

"You can borrow these," he said. He wasn't blinking. I received the clothes he had brought for me.

(Thank you,) I said. I felt the sudden urge to hide behind the dumpster.

"Speak through your mow-thuh. Human-zuh don't use thought SPEECH," he said.

"Thank you," I said. Sound rattled through my throat and out of my mouth, tingling against my tongue and teeth.

I looked at the boy and quickly figured out the way the clothes went on. He helped me put on what he called "underwear." I preferred to adjust the rest myself. The lowers clasped in the front. They slid down my hips. I put the upper on like the boy. He came over to adjust it.

"Backwards," he explained. "It offends them-m-m-m. I forgot shoes."

I shook my head slowly. I recalled shoes as having something to do with feet. "I do not need them."

It was easier to read his facial expressions in a form I shared. He seemed confused. "Mouth," he said, pointing to his own. "You don't like it?"

"Like," I repeated. "Where is the mall?"

He exhaled suddenly out of his mouth repeatedly. Laughter.

"What?" I asked.

"You will fit in there," he explained.

(Let us converse in thought speech. We cannot afford to have the humans hear us,) I said. That was one reason.

(You really don't like the mouth?)

I ignored him. I walked past him. He ran up and tapped my shoulder. (This way,) he said.

We walked in silence. Neither mouth-sounds or thought-speech words were exchanged. It seemed to make him uncomfortable.

(Why did you come to Earth?) He asked. The sole purpose of the question was to make him feel less uncomfortable. I did not want to answer it.

(What is the purpose of clothing?) I asked. I supposed my question would have the same effect on his discomfort. Now he seemed hurt.

(It is something I do not entirely understand,) he admitted. (At first I thought it was simply a protection against the elements—staying warm in cool places, keeping the body safe from dirt and the inclemency of Earth's weather. I now believe there is more to it than that.)

(Which is?) I prompted.

(Humans feel a great deal of shame about their bodies. I am not sure why. Clothing is used to cover up the parts they are ashamed about.)

A tremor ran through my spine.

(How far away is the mall?) I asked.

(Over there.) The boy pointed to a number of rectangular buildings labeled in different fonts.

We entered the mall in the front. Humans still used a market-based economy. Dozens of store fronts lined the wide, tiled hallways. Most sold textiles and other fabric-based goods. The boy guided me towards one called "Gap."

(A gap,) I said. (Appropriate.)

We went inside. (I will enter the dressing room. Follow me in no less than a minute,) he instructed.

I waited for a minute and four seconds.

When I entered, the boy had already opened the mirror. This revealed a staircase that led deep underground. I stepped up.

(No, no! They have biofilters, scanners that detect whether the entrant is infested.)

I looked up at him. (Why didn't you mention this before?)

He looked down. (I wasn't thinking clearly.)

I closed the mirror and headed out of the dressing room. He followed shortly.

(What—)

(You have performed your function, _aristh_. Thank you for your assistance.)

(Where are you going?) He asked.

I stopped in the middle of Gap. I looked at him. (Do you have any expertise in human combat?)

He rubbed the back of his neck. This was a particular gesture. (No, I never bothered to learn.)

(I shall bother,) I explained.

I walked out of the store. I walked toward the entrance of the mall. I noticed that there seemed to be a large number of other establishments outside the mall. They sold all kinds of goods and performed many services. Perhaps one exchanged bits of information about human combat for human currency.

(So you're—right now?)

(Now is the only time ever worth considering,) I said.

I left him there.

I went to begin my human training.


	10. Chapter Nine: Terenia

Chapter Nine

Terenia

I had managed to stay together for four weeks. I didn't know what kind of accomplishment that was, but somehow counting down the days to some rescue that would probably never happen made the whole situation a lot easier to deal with.

I yelled a lot for the first week. It didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't doing much good. She was a little annoyed at first, but she got real good at ignoring me. It felt like giving up, but I couldn't keep yelling. I couldn't keep stabbing her with everything unpleasant I could remember or invent. It was too hard to force myself to be so sad when all I wanted was to feel happy. Or at least normal. But I was pretty sure normal was something I wasn't never get back.

The second week I took to imagining what would happen if I never got saved. The hope of rescue was necessary, even though I knew it wasn't never going to happen. I was infested by the leader of all the Yeerks. The Empress herself. Jennor hadn't known much about Yeerk ranks and stuff, but even she talked about the Council of Thirteen with respect and awe. It was hopeless.

But considering life without hope was like surrendering to life without happiness. I couldn't let myself give up. I spent the next two weeks looking everywhere for hope. In the doubtful glances of her shipmates, in the farthest corners of the galaxy she sought to take over. But her control was too tight, her grasp too firm. I couldn't break through her end. Someone would have to break through mine.

But who cared about me?

No one on Earth could come for me. And even if they could, would they try? I'd been gone for over two years. How could anyone still believe I was alive?

And on Andal...the only person I knew on Andal was Sofor, but he didn't even care enough about his own daughter to go find her after she'd been kidnapped. Why would he waste time looking for me?

All in all, things looked bad.

But there was still a little spark of hope in my chest. One little thing that convinced me not to give up entire. Jennor was out there somewhere. If she found out I'd been taken, she would...no. I couldn't count on her. She was a little kid with her own problems. If I wasn't here, I'd be out trying to rescue her. We both needed rescue. And we were both very much lacking in rescuers.

So I tried to find good in the situation.

I did have it pretty good for a host. At least as good as a host can expect to get it.

I wasn't one of those Hork-Bajir shock troops strapped with guns, sent to their deaths every two or three days. I wasn't one of those awful, smelly Taxxons walking around either waiting for hunger to strike, or to be struck by someone else's hunger. I was the Empress. She installed grass floors all over her Blade Ship so I wouldn't get hungry. She had the means to take care of me. Physically, I wanted for nothing. Except sleep. She had a hard time getting me to sleep.

She wasn't mean to me, either. She didn't feel the need, even when I had been in my rebellious phase, to push me down by sharing in my embarrassments or less-than-stellar memories. She didn't ridicule or judge me, though it was clear those tools worked good for other Yeerks. Like a kindergarten teacher, she was patient and forgiving. I meant too much to her.

Of course, she didn't chat or gossip with me or anything. We weren't friends. At best, I was a favorite tool. One she took good care of, but one that was ultimately meaningless and replaceable. Like Frank's favorite fishing rod, or, I don't know, Jennor's gun. Yeah. I was like Jennor's gun.

"Good morning, sir," her suck-up chief of staff or assistant or whatever said. I groaned a little. Punctual as always was Kiss-Ass Joe. Just once I wished I could be left alone for maybe three minutes in the morning without having to listen to their boring checklists and strategy-talk.

We had been walking through the halls of her ship. It was her favorite thing to do in the morning. Gauge the atmosphere, see what everyone's thinking. They saluted her as always, tried to stay stiff and formal, but they always gave themselves away. They weren't too fond of the grass. Especially the Taxxons, squirming and writhing and flicking away little bits of mud.

(Sub-Visser,) she responded using my voice. It was so weird to hear myself talk without doing it. Sort of like hearing yourself on an answering machine.

"I've compiled a list, you know, just because you said I should organize my thoughts before I go running my…before I…well, you know," he stammered, clearing his throat, holding out a small screen with hieroglyphics all over it. It took a moment for the translator chip I had gotten to sort them into a legible language. I wanted to grab for the pad, read what he'd wrote, but she ignored it.

(I told you I made up my mind,) she explained, looking away, waving him off. I ached trying to pull my eyes toward that list.

"There are plenty of alternatives."

(I am aware.)

_Please listen to him_, I thought. I didn't want her to go through with it. She was putting me in unnecessary danger. Risking too much for something I didn't see as being worth the risk.

(But at least you're not one of those overarmed, expendable Hork-Bajir shock troops,) she reminded me. (The last thing I want is you dead, Terenia. You're all I've got. Remember that.)

I sighed, or at least, did as much of a sigh as I could, which did feel like a slightly deeper breath than normal. That happened sometimes. I don't know if it was just that at certain, rare, particular moments, we just happened to want to do the same thing at the same time, or that there was some kind of secret harmony involved in our twisted host/parasite relationship, but sometimes she did what I wanted her to. And it wasn't like I was in control. It wasn't my sigh. But it worked. It did whatever a sigh was supposed to do. And each time it happened, it worked a little bit better. As good as this felt, though, it scared me. It felt like we were becoming one person. Little bits of me were getting swallowed up by her, and vice versa. This wasn't good. I knew it really meant I was losing.

"Well, let's not talk about that for now. I'll change your mind before the end of all this." He looked up at her and smiled. It was frightening. His brown-stained, gnarled Hork-Bajir teeth were too big for his mouth and even though they were flat, they looked scary.

(What's on the agenda for today?) The Empress asked, sharing my disgust but nursing a weird tenderness for it.

"Visser Three would like to speak to you. About your host," he said.

(Yes, I thought he might.) she said, a slight shiver of pleasure passing through me.

She took her time getting to him. I wondered if he was waiting for her to speak to him, or if she'd call him back. But I realized the answer as quickly as I'd formed the question.

She was the Empress. He was waiting. And he was waiting longer because she wanted him to.

She checked the environmental status and fuel levels of the ship real thorough, and even performed a full-systems diagnostic. She reviewed the requests for host transfers, a weekly task it had been five days since she'd last completed. It seemed every Yeerk wanted a new host. There were at least thirty Taxxon controllers who wanted Hork-Bajir hosts. A couple of Hork-Bajir hosts had even been brave enough to put in a transfer for an Andalite host. Now that there was more than one, people felt like they were a shared commodity. This made her smile.

Some of them were wily enough to ask for labor transfers rather than host transfers. Each race was carefully segregated aboard her Blade Ship since they each preferred a different climate. The Taxxons liked it hot, dry, and dark. Hork-Bajir liked it a little cooler and moister. Her obsession with efficiency led her to assign each race where they'd be more comfortable. If a Taxxon Controller put in a request to move from weapons maintenance to the medical quarters, for example, then it really meant they wanted to trade in their old host for a stronger, less bloodthirsty model. She picked the three highest-ranking requests, making them each the recipient of a new Hork-Bajir body. After all, the new adolescents were nearing maturity.

Knowing all that stuff really made me mad. I didn't want to know any of it. I knew it because I saw it through her eyes. No, my eyes. I was still me, and she was just using me because she couldn't do any of this stuff without me. _If I wasn't infested..._

_...you'd be on Andal, forced into different work you'd have no choice about._

I wanted to sigh again, but she didn't humor me this time.

Almost twenty minutes later, she headed over to the panel to talk to Visser Three. His strong, weathered Andalite face was sweaty and kind of irritated from being forced to wait so long.

(Visser, what an unexpected pleasure,) she said with a self-indulgent smile.

(Councilor,) The Visser replied, doing a sucky job of hiding his dissatisfaction.

(To what do I owe this distinct honor?) She asked, letting the full force of her sarcasm wash over him.

He seemed offended, but also a little nervous. He didn't like her any more than she liked him, but she had rank in this situation.

In every situation.

(I thought it was appropriate to discuss the, um...the consequences? No, no, that's not what I mean—)

(You're upset that you no longer have the only Andalite host in the Empire,) she said slowly, grin widening.

(I'm not sure "upset" best describes my current opinion,) the Visser said.

(Yes, it is a pity that your undeniable leadership skills are the only thing propelling your career from now on,) she said. (If you want my advice, Visser, it would be not to play this up too much. After all, there is no shame in being one of only two possessors of an Andalite host. And the more you talk about it, the more attention you're going to bring to the circumstances under which you received yours. If I recall correctly, didn't you first infest the War-Prince while he was subdued? Whereas I received my host on a daring invasion of the Andalite homeworld itself? Yes. There is honor in deception. Bravery in...well, cowardice.)

(I wanted to advise you not to address the Empire today,) he said. This was not the response she was expecting, and the smile dropped out of her eyes. (That is the rumor that's going around. It's about the girl, isn't it?) He asked.

(Don't assume anything, Visser,) she responded.

(You don't want to bring attention to the fact that you failed, sir.)

(Do you think I got to this position by being an insufferable know-it-all, Esplin?) she barked, a little more pointedly than she intended. (Is that how you plan to advance?)

(I seem to be advancing without any advice from you, sir.)

(Well, we'll see if that continues,) she warned. The Visser smiled. The game was now officially on.

(I wanted to warn you because if people see that you've failed, they will have less faith in you, and that might weaken your beloved efficiency.)

(What do you know about efficiency?) She scoffed.

(If you want to avoid it, you'll go through with the address. You've never had more support, sir. Gossip and hearsay of your invasion flow through all of the unregulated communications channels. You've never had a more direct hold over the Empire. If you address them, if they _see_ the result of your mythic quest to Andal and realize you did not apprehend what you intended, then you'll lose that power. You'll become just like one of them.)

She rolled her eyes. A vestige from my human life.

(You don't think I know what the rest of my Empire knows? You think I pay so little attention to the news channels, to gossip, to grassroots communication? Yes, I planned an invasion of the homeworld, and they're aware that some attempt was made, but they don't know the specifics. They don't have visual confirmation of the success of our mission. They don't know about the girl. They need to. That is the point of this, Visser. I don't want to be mythic anymore. There's a war. Wars are concrete. Their leaders should be, too.)

(I believe you're making a mistake, sir. The Andalites fear me, because of my host. They know Alloran. Your host is still a great resource because she is unknown. If we could keep that, utilize her for espionage—)

(You really think I'm that thick, don't you? You think I can't see what you want? You don't want people outside of my Blade Ship and the few, if any, advisors you've trusted enough to inform to know about my new host. And I understand that. Did you know that two people from my ship put in for a host transfer? For an Andalite?)

The Visser turned slightly pale at this. He was not inspiring as much fear as he used to.

(Now there's a reaction that makes sense,) she gloated. (I appreciate your concern, but you really don't know how important this girl is to me,) she said.

(It will kill you,) he said. (If you tell them about her, it will kill you.)

(And if I don't, it will kill me faster.) She sighed. (Death is the only end point along any series of choices, Visser. Never forget that.)

She shut off the monitor. He had agitated her more than she meant to let him. She shuddered.

It took about five minutes for her to find her assistant. (Sub-Visser, give me the list,) she said.

_Finally_, I thought.

He looked at her and smiled again. This one was not as scary. Not as pronounced. More sincere.

He handed her the list, and as he did, a sharp claw dug through my Andalite skin. We both jerked back our hands in surprise.

"My apologies, sir. I'll go get a dermal regenerator."

(No, Sub-Visser, leave it. It's fine.)

"If you appear on screen with an injury, some Yeerks, Visser Three especially, might deduce that you can't morph."

(I realize that, but if I use a dermal regenerator for a simple scratch, I'll be perceived as some weak coward. Besides, it will leave a scar. These things heal better on their own. I don't think anyone will give me trouble for a little scratch.)

"It was my fault, sir. I take responsibility."

Now it was her turn to smile. (Think nothing of it.)

She finally looked down at the list and read what he had wrote.

_1) Loss of anonymity among the council._

(Sub-Visser,) she said. (I don't need to state my rank in order to address the Empire.)

"I think it will be assumed," he responded.

(You worry too much.)

_2) Prime target for assassination if message intercepted by the Andalites._

(A price I'm willing to pay,) she said.

_3) Relevant information might be better delivered by some other means._

(Like what, a memo? People need to hear from their leaders,) she said.

_4) What would I do if you got hurt?_

She looked up at the vicious, alien Hork-Bajir, whose face had not changed. I felt my shins and shoulders tingle, but it wasn't shared this time.

(You could really only think of three reasons?) She asked.

"Yes, sir," he responded. "Three reasons."

His face didn't change, but there was a sort of pathetic defeat in his eyes. She handed him back the view screen and continued walking down the hallway.

(I address the Empire tonight,) she vowed.

I felt a big surge of pity for him, all of a sudden, despite my earlier annoyance. I think she felt the same. A warm flow of guilt washed through my chest. We had another one of those weird connections. She was feeling what I wanted to feel, but she was feeling it to a much stronger degree.

(That was cute,) I said quietly.

(Stay out of it,) she warned pointlessly. I decided not to explode in a loud speech about how "staying out of it" was all I really wanted, and let the strangeness of their relationship distract her instead.

She had a meeting with the Council scheduled to discuss the message for tonight. In the last month, the war had taken unexpected turns at various locations far from center, so she spoke to most of the Council through holographic projections. It was good practice. This is how she'd address everyone tonight.

(Councilors,) she said, standing in a large, round room with projectors showing the various images of the Council, hidden in shadow and cloth. She hadn't got around to installing grass in here. Already I felt my stomachs growl.

"Councilor Eight," they all responded customarily.

"The issue under discussion today is the message you plan to deliver to the Empire," the human host said. The first time I had seen him, I'd cried out in distress, and though she sort of laughed at me, I could also sense a little sympathy and guilt.

Like I said. I didn't have it so bad.

But now, I had gotten used to the idea. I even took a little comfort in seeing him. It had been years since I saw a human.

She sighed impatiently. (I've presented my script to you; I don't understand what possible problem has arisen.) Her patience with the council had dwindled now that they had messed up her capture of Jennor.

I liked them for that. Even though it meant I was here instead.

"No problem at all," A Taxxon Controller hissed. "We would just like to verify the time so we can inform the captains of all of our Blade and Pool Ships to assemble their crews. Still 2100 hours?"

(Yes,) The Empress hissed right back.

"Very well. Billions of Yeerks will finally meet their Empress."

Sudden shouting erupted amongst the council. The Empress smiled invisibly at the Taxxon's gaffe.

(Settle down, everyone,) The Empress said after the argument inspired movement and shoving among the few Councilors sitting in the same room. The plan was that the Empress wasn't going to introduce herself as "Empress." She was going to say Councilor Eight. Her pseudonym.

Everyone agreed that this was a good idea. The Empress, because she didn't want to make her face known to either the Andalites or the Yeerks. She wasn't so worried about the Andalites. As her assistant had said, knowing she was a Councilor was enough to inspire them to seek assassination. But she _was_ worried about Yeerks. She had tortured enough traitors to see just how powerful the desire for rank was over obligation and loyalty.

And of course, the Council liked the equality that her anonymity offered. If she was really the Empress, it would be hard to disagree with her.

(Please, sit down. I don't plan to address the Empire as Empress. We've already discussed it. It would be suicide.)

The Council, still settling down, grumbled in agreement.

(And, at the very least, it seems like a very...touchy issue among you,) she said. (I wouldn't want to disturb the balance.)

I got a sick feeling in my stomach. It was real. And I wasn't sure who had caused it or why it was happening.

"Well, be sure to stick to the script," A Hork-Bajir growled.

The Empress nodded and ended communication.

When she exited the conference room, her assistant was not waiting.

(Too embarrassed,) I offered. She didn't respond.

She was not scheduled to address the Empire for another two hours. I decided now was the time to speak up.

(Is this thing transmitting to all Yeerks, or just the ones with hosts?) I asked.

(All Yeerks. A psychic feed is going into every Pool equipped with one.)

(So like, how many people is that?) I asked.

(Billions.) I felt a shiver of fear run through my bowels. Perfect. I laughed a little. (You're taking pleasure in my discomfort, aren't you?) She asked.

(Wouldn't you be?)

(Are you planning on yelling and screaming once we begin transmitting?) She taunted. (That would probably be just the perfect distraction from what little stage fright I am bound to experience.)

(Oh, you don't know what I'm planning,) I laughed.

(Yes, Terenia. I do.)

I decided to stop talking to her.

But doubt was planted. The closer it got to 9:00, the more I felt my shins and shoulders tingle. She went to the medical quarters to get something to calm her down. Her assistant was in there, talking to one of the Hork-Bajir technicians. The Empress avoided conversation, barely even acknowledging him.

Finally, it was time. She dug my hoof hard into the grass just outside of the conference room. She was trying to outrun my metabolism.

(It won't be that easy,) I said.

(I know.)

She stepped inside. Her assistant was waiting inside with a dermal regenerator.

"It won't leave a scar," he said softly. He carefully grabbed my arm and ran it over the scab that had formed where he scratched me. The wound disappeared, leaving nothing but fresh skin underneath.

(Thank you, Nagrit.) She responded. I felt my stalk eyes clench shut and curl close to my scalp. I laughed at her. It was the first time she'd addressed him by his real name, and I wasn't about to let that go unnoticed. Her shins and shoulders were still tingling, a little from embarrassment, but now they had a slightly different flavor. Warmer.

Nagrit noticed what I noticed and smiled. "Good luck, sir," he said before exiting the conference room.

It was time.

The lights dimmed, and a red light in front of her began flashing.

(Thirty seconds,) I said. (You can still run, you know.)

She breathed deeply a few times, tucking my arms behind my back, lowering my stalk eyes behind my head. She wasn't going to reveal what species she was until late in the speech, when all the houselights came up. These Yeerks sure loved their drama.

Seconds were drawn and quartered into what felt like hours. It was painful for me, too. I couldn't stop imagining the terrible things that would start to happen once she revealed herself to her subjects. The threat of assassination was as real as having to go to the bathroom or needing to breathe. And the weight, the weight of potential failure...

Now wait just a minute here. I was afraid of Terliss' failure? What was wrong with me?

I felt a surge within me, and as I did, I remembered my first tornado. A thundercloud rumbled off in the western horizon, purple and brown, curling thick under itself. A heavy, slow wind, the smell of it rustling through the fields. It was still calm. Tense and calm. Blue skies disappeared into the east.

(Get out of my head, you filthy bitch,) I seethed.

The light turned green. We were recording.

(Denizens of the Empire,) she began. (I bid you health of mind, health of host, and health of luck.)

(Leave Jennor alone, and get out of my head!)

(Though the first two are mainly under your own control, unless you are unfortunate enough to be one of the many without a host, I can say with great excitement that the prognosis for the third seems to be improving for all the Empire. The Taxxon Homeworld is nearly under our complete control, and Hork-Bajir production is up, now that our medical experts have slashed infant mortality rates by incubating cubs in artificial cylinders rather than sows.)

(GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!)

(Most exciting of all, however, is the continued exploration and vivisection of our galaxy. We are finding new, better, more numerous hosts every day. Before the end of our lifetimes, any Yeerk, no matter his accomplishments or station, will have pick of the litter of any host he wants.)

(Look what you've done, you filthy piece of lard and slime! Look at what you're doing! You're begging for approval like a little kid pissed his pants! In front of a bunch of other selfish, spoiled, sticky little brats! You're begging for approval from the retarded, demented failures of the universe!)

(But any of this news is available to someone with the simple desire to seek it. The reason I address you all tonight is far more sinister.)

The lights turned on, revealing my Andalite form to every Yeerk in the Empire.

(No, no, no! I'm not a part of this! This isn't me! Turn it off, put me back! I want to go home, I can't do this anymore!)

(Yes. I realize that whispers of a successful invasion of the Andalite homeworld have been circulating, thanks in no part to the vow of secrecy taken by every Yeerk who was a part of that mission.) My eyes got serious on the outside, but on the inside I was crippled, overcome, drowning in tears.

(Please just stop,) I begged, totally afraid, defeated, and exposed. (Please just run.)

(A large-scale invasion of Andal—yes, that's what those foul beasts call it—is currently impossible. We had only the means to penetrate their defenses with a single fighter. One fighter to receive one little girl.)

(Stop!) I yelled, getting more serious. (Don't do it, please!)

(This is not that girl.)

(Leave Jennor alone. She's just a kid. How can she hurt you?) I sobbed.

(I don't ask you to understand what I'm about to tell you. I barely understand it myself. But the mission I designed to penetrate Andalite defenses and neutralize this threat failed. Yes, my faithful friends, I admit failure. The girl I speak of, named Jennor-Elacable-Barees, is a great menace to the Empire. If you see her, if you even glimpse a female Andalite warrior in any battle you partake in, I want all focus centered on her. I want her alive, but I will accept her dead. Rest assured that any faithful servant who successfully apprehends her can expect great reward and success.)

She nodded almost invisibly and the screen revealed Jennor's personnel picture. I sobbed louder. While the picture obscured her, she wiped the sweat from my brow.

(Jennor-Elacable-Barees must not be allowed to succeed. She must not even be allowed to survive. Whatever threat she poses to the Empire will ruin us all.)

The scripted speech was over. The communications technician went to cut transmission, but she signaled him to wait.

(My name is Terliss 412. As your Empress, I command it to be done.)

The green light flickered off, and I drowned in inaudible, invisible hysterics as she sauntered out, smiling to herself.

* * *

**Two quick things:**

**First of all, Birdie num num, I have to apologize. I know it's been a long time since we've heard from Jennor-of-the-past, but spoiler alert, you'll hear the thrilling continuation of that story next week, so stay tuned!**

**Second, I know these chapters are kind of long, and it's probably hard to get through them all in one sitting, so if you guys prefer, I can start busting them up into two- or three-thousand word parts. I just don't know if I'm not thinking of some bad consequence that that might cause, but either way, tell me what you think!  
**


	11. Chapter Ten: Jennor

Chapter Ten

Jennor

PART ONE OF TWO

The first thing that hit me was the smell.

I breathed in hard, and just from the smell, I could tell I wasn't home. The air tasted filtered, stale, artificial. Like a ship lot, like a fuel refinery, like stale organic waste. No solar heat radiated from the grass, and the ground was not spongy with dirt and moisture. There was no jet stream, no air flow, no circulation. Everything was stuck inside this terrible little space.

I opened my main eyes. I was about two meters away from Trainer's hooves. He was idly shifting his weight from side to side, carefully scratching an itch on his haunch with the blunt edge of his tail blade. Dry grass prickled my face. Even up this close, it didn't smell like grass. It smelled like Styrofoam or rubber. It was withered and flaccid, drooping down to the ground like wet hair. It looked like it had given up.

I opened a fuzzy stalk eye and gauged my situation. I turned, looking up at the blank, shining ceiling with my main eyes, inspiring a primitive rush of panic. Andalites are not meant to lie on the ground, and though I felt the sharp inclination to scramble to my hooves, I stayed still, silently hushing my throbbing head. I glanced back at my waist to see that my holster and Shredder were gone. I lifted my stalk eyes, scanning the rest of the ship, blinking the aching dullness away, and gazed up at Trainer. He was at the control panel, hands hovering carefully over the tactile controls, eyes focusing hard on the psychic ones. The single stalk eye always reserved for me was gazing curiously up and down my prostrate body. I looked away, suddenly aware of a significant change in his demeanor.

It was just like that terrible smell, the way I could sense how different he was. I had been too blind to notice it before now, distracted by my own selfish fear of failure. But he'd been nervous too. No, not nervous. Terrified. Self-doubting, panicked. Was he scared about my potential failure too? My failure would reflect poorly on him, but…no, he'd known the status of my acceptance before I'd found out, and his terror persisted beyond my admittance to the training facility. His fear was selfish, too. He was afraid of failing at something that had nothing to do with my career. But it had everything to do with me.

I didn't understand, but I could tell he was different now. He was content. His terror was gone, replaced with smug pride and self-assuredness. Whatever he had done, he had gotten away with it.

Yes. That distinct thought passed through his mind. _I got away with it._

(I'm sorry that I hit you,) he said, distracted by the control panel, as though my presence was a mild inconvenience. (Dangerous to be up and about in a ship jumping to Zero Space, no?)

(Where are we?) I asked, rolling onto my stomach so I could pull myself to my hooves.

(Zero Space,) he answered slowly, annoyed by my question, as if it should have been perfectly obvious. I thought of a way to rephrase it to make it clearer, but decided against it. Trainer liked his games of wit and evasion. Especially when he had something to hide.

(Go get something to drink, Jennor. There's a pool in your quarters.)

I pulled myself to a standing position, eyes fluttering, head heavy with throbbing pain. I stumbled to the aft living quarters, guiding myself carefully with the smooth interior edge of the ship. The temperature increased as I walked, heat radiating from the normal-space engines. Poor compensators. Mediocre life support. It was why the air tasted so artificial, why I felt so trapped. My eyes roved around once more, corroborating my surroundings, calculating the volume of the ship. Less than a hundred cubic meters. A choking sensation in my throat. Sweat trickled down my temple. I put a cold finger to it, which helped the persistent throbbing from the initial assault.

The entrances of the quarters faced each other, separated by a narrow hallway. I heard the high-pitched hum of the twin Zero Space engines from within each room. I glanced inside the starboard quarters, but it was clear that Trainer had claimed it. He had already unpacked a number of personal items. I felt a thrill of unclear fear. A withered branch from a long-dead wish flower hung over the small, circular, ramonite window that looked out to the sleek, unnecessarily aerodynamic Z-Space engine. His holster and Shredder, a newer, sleeker model than mine, lay tidily in the corner of the room. He had a small, round, metal desk adorned with a bouquet of flowers suspended in mid-air inside an orb of water—a pretty elementary manipulation of artificial gravity. On the other side of the desk, obscured by the orb, was a small holographic image of a beautiful woman. I was drawn to her image. I wondered who she was.

(Your quarters are over there, Jennor,) he said sternly, charging up from behind, blocking his doorway. He pressed his tail blade flat into my chest and pushed me into the opposite room.

I stumbled inside, watching him with my stalk eyes as I surveyed the situation.

After a quick glance, I realized that my room was smaller than Trainer's. There was no reason why the rooms shouldn't be equal in size. The grass in here was even more pathetic than on the bridge. It looked almost ashen, completely devoid of life or nutrition. An artificial-looking light in a tube outlined the room, giving little flickers of surrender every few seconds. My stomach gave a sick lurch when I realized none of my personal effects were in here. No, none of my things from home, but the only things I really wanted were my holster and Shredder

Where were they?

That one question opened a flood gate of curiosity, fear, indignation, and impatience, and I looked up at Trainer expectantly. Though I hadn't said a word, Trainer knew exactly how to respond to me.

(I suppose you and I need to have a talk,) he said, standing in my doorway, an air of benign wonder in his voice, like he was predicting what the weather would be like later in the day.

(Why are we in Zero Space?) I asked him, repulsed by the look of satisfaction and victory in his black eyes, but too stubborn to break eye contact.

(We are in Zero Space because we are traveling somewhere that necessitates it,) he responded. He was still gloating, enjoying his game of psychological hide-and-seek.

(Where are we going that necessitates the use of Zero Space?) I asked patiently.

He breathed deeply, finally preparing to reveal the truth.

(We are traveling to a planet in Sector 42, Section Gamma,) he responded. (There is no native sentient species.)

(Is this a pit stop?) I asked.

(What?) He asked. I waved my stalk eyes, remembering that he would not recognize an Earth idiom.

(Are we going to Officer's Training afterwards?)

He smiled.

I wanted there to be menace and danger in it, but for the first time since I'd met him, it seemed sincere. He was proud of me, and there was an unmistakable sense of accomplishment that validated it. For a second, it reminded me of my father, but I didn't know why. Father had only looked at me like that once before.

(You are not going to Officer's Training, Jennor,) he said.

I felt prickly ice cubes run down my neck and back, pins in my shoulders and shins. I wobbled a little. But Trainer kept smiling.

(Why not?) I whispered.

He walked inside my quarters and pressed his palm to the flickering light. A control panel opened up before him, flashing navy blue warnings. He moved his fingertips there, closed his eyes in concentration, and the light stopped flickering.

(You really don't know how talented you are, do you?) His stalk eye was pinned on me, like always.

I felt the ice melt as my cheeks flushed. The stalk eye smiled.

(I spent only a few months fighting in the war before my reassignment to Frahola's,) he said, a note of bitterness in his voice. (The quality of the warriors I met disappointed me to no end. I thought I could change that, from my new position. But not until you, Jennor...) his voice trailed off. I felt faintly nauseated.

He gazed for a moment out of the small window that looked at nothing except the large, glowing Zero Space engine. He was distracted by something from his past. I could tell I didn't want to know about it, so I didn't try to probe him.

(But why now?) I asked, breaking him from his reverie.

(Because the Andalites are losing, Jennor.) he responded, still gazing out the window. (Because we need every last scrap of talent we can dig up fighting on the front lines. Because you can make a difference.)

(But two years of Officer's Training surely won't—)

(There might not be a war in two years, Jennor,) he said, turning his full attention on me. He was not angry or threatening, but I couldn't bear that terrible, black, inscrutable gaze. (Those blessed with talent are also cursed by it, Jennor. The war needs you.) I felt like he wasn't finished speaking, but he said nothing further.

(I just...I'm not that great. You cut me the first day. There's so much I still need to learn. Would they even let an _aristh_ fight on the front lines? I really can't—)

(Let me worry about the details, Jennor,) he said, smug self-satisfaction returning to his face. (And...I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.)

I broke eye contact and looked down.

(You are...Jennor, you were, without a doubt, the best student I instructed this year. In a way, your progression from bucking, unfocused neophyte)—I scowled at this—(to graceful, finessed tail artist was the same as anyone else's, but the fighter you turned into...it was like you were born for it. Crafted for combat. It is what any combat trainer can only dream of. I have never seen someone make the transition so smoothly. It takes most men years.) He laughed for a moment. (Perhaps that is the difference. Perhaps we sent the wrong half to war.)

(Sir, I—)

(You can be a hero, Jennor. That gift, on the end of your tail, that sign...you're already a better fighter than any of those boys hundreds of pounds heavier and a decade older. I don't even want to imagine the force you will be when you...mature, no?) He said the last words, sliding his eyes up and down my frame. He may as well have splashed me with cold engine oil.

(And you really believe we shouldn't wait until then?) I asked.

He smiled again, all sincerity lost. (Surely not. You're ready now.) Despite his testimony that made my hearts swell with pride, I felt unconvinced. There was something he wasn't telling me. His previous thought rang in my head: _I got away with it._

Got away with what?

(So this is...good, then?) I asked him uncertainly. He laughed again, this one both lighter and more dangerous.

(Yes, Jennor, this is very good.)

(Well, my father is unaware of the good news. I shall go contact him,) I said, making my way slowly out of the quarters. Trainer grabbed me by my upper arm.

(We can use no long-range communication while in Zero Space,) he said flatly.

(Oh. When we...reach our destination, then?) I tried to pull my arm away, but he gripped it tighter.

(Certainly,) he said, releasing his grip.

Three weeks went by in the blank embrace of Zero Space. I convinced myself I'd grown accustomed to my new environment, but I began experiencing panic attacks, waking up in cold sweats in the middle of the night. Trainer spent most of his time at the control panel. I tried a few times to see what he was doing, but it's hard to spy on someone when one of their eyes watches everything that you do. He had unloaded my Shredder and given it back to me, telling me to practice holding it and walking with it. (Make it a close friend,) he instructed. He said when we finally reached the planet, he would give me all the supplies I would need to fill my holster—Shredder fuel cartridges, tiny remote grenades, artificial skin grafts, and a few painkillers. I swelled in anticipation for when that day would arrive.

I spent most of my time reviewing my tail-fighting forms. There were dozens in total, half designed to condition different muscles, the other half meant to prepare for different opponents. Most were divided into categories for Andalites—different forms for different heights, weights, and builds. Tail-fighting was an eons-old art, and only recently had the division of the military devoted to it conceived of forms for engaging Hork-Bajir and Taxxons. Those were the ones I concentrated most heavily on. Those were the ones I would need to master.

Trainer paid very close attention to my eating and drinking habits. I was only allowed to eat the grass on one side of the ship at a time, in order to give the grass on the opposite side an opportunity to regrow. It tasted dry and it was difficult to swallow. I tried to stay off the wrong side of the ship, because it's so instinctive to absorb any grass you're standing on. If he saw me eating on the wrong side, he would glare and insult my stamina, my strength of will, my devotion. My gender. My father. Sometimes I wished he would just cut me again. He always knew exactly what to say to break my spirit.

Every three hours or so, he would tell me to get a drink of water. After all, the grass was dry, and it was necessary for proper brain and body function to remain hydrated. It was an unsettling new habit, since the grass of home more than hydrated me. His final order was at 2100. I don't know why, but the water on that ship always made me sleepy. I'd usually fall asleep for the night half an hour after that completing that final order.

Finally, after I knew all of my Shredder's deepest secrets and could do thirteen of the seventeen Hork-Bajir and Taxxon forms in zero-gravity, Trainer approached me and informed me that we would reach the planet later that day.

* * *

**lol remember when I said I wasn't going to make any author's notes?**

**So we're going to give this a try: the chapter lengths will remain about the same, but I'm going to split them up into 2,000- or 3,000-word chunks. I don't know about you guys, but my e-attention span is only about 2,000 words, and I don't want you to have trouble figuring out where you left off if you read these in more than one sitting. I realize there may be some consequences of this that I haven't thought of, so if it doesn't work, we'll just switch back to the old way.**

**Before I forget, thanks again to my reviewers--voodooqueen, birdie, and metamorphstorm. I'm glad you guys have stuck around so far :)**

**All right, without further adieu, click the right arrow for part two!  
**


	12. Chapter Ten: Part Two

PART TWO OF TWO

(Why are we fighting on a planet with no native sentient species? I thought the war was to protect all of the innocent races of the galaxy who can't defend themselves,) I said, reciting just a little bit.

(Things are not so simple. This planet is a prime relay point for communication to both the Andalite and Yeerk homeworlds. A large nebula about a light year away acts as a transmitter that tunnels through sub-space to a sister nebula just outside of Andal. The Yeerks set up an artificial satellite for the same reason outside their home base. This sector of space does not otherwise have a reliable means of communicating with the Electorate.)

(We're fighting for a satellite?) I asked.

(Yes, Jennor. Sometimes war is not just noble and photogenic,) he said.

I rubbed my hands together in disappointment. I had forgotten to keep up that habit, now that there were no suspicious Andalites around. Trainer was not disgusted by my cold hands.

(No, Jennor, don't do it like that,) he sighed. (People will suspect what you are if you do it like that.)

(Father always said—)

(Your father was right about very little, Jennor. You don't know how many of his lessons turned into bad habits I had to break,) he said. I felt a sudden rush of longing for my father. He still didn't know where I was.

(There are a few things you can do to keep your hands warm while diffusing suspicion. First is this.)

He clutched my hands. They were moist and balmy, like a wet cloth heated with low-powered Shredder fire. He tucked each of my hands under the opposite elbow, so I was crossing my arms, but he spread my fingers out so they were lost in the sparse fur that trickled down my ribs.

(Your ribs are warm, no?) he asked. He smiled, holding his hands over mine. (Second is this.)

He drew my arms out from beneath my elbows and folded them behind my back. I felt a bolt of fear as he bent the arm, incapacitating it. But then both arms seemed to fall into a natural stance, folding over each opposite wrist neatly. I felt the muscles in my chest stretch in relief.

(This is less effective, as your forearms are still very chilled compared to the rest of your body. But it's a stance of power. No one will touch you if you stand like this.)

I nodded in understanding.

(One final thing that works well communicates less power, but it is most efficient. You will see things, Jennor. Most of these things will be horrifying to the weak. You are female. You will be perceived as weak.)

(But I'm not weak,) I argued with a glare.

(No,) he said, half-amused. (You are not.)

He pulled my hands out in front of my body and curved them towards my face. With his hands pressed against mine, he covered the bottom half of my face with my hands.

(Your breath is hot,) he explained. (It will bring life to your hands.)

I inhaled through small spaces in my fingers. When I exhaled, the air, stirred in my lungs, lent warmth to my fingers.

(I have to act like I'm horrified?) I asked.

(You may not have to act. Much of it will be horrifying.) He kept his hands over mine.

I removed my hands from my face, and for a brief, strange moment, his hands remained, cupping my cheeks with something like fondness. Then he pulled them away and mimicked the second stance he showed me, folding his arms behind his back. He glanced at the control panel.

(Of course, most of that will be unnecessary. When we fight, you will use the morph of the boy you procured on the first day of training.)

My eyes widened. (Sir, I won't be able to fight as well in that form. My...the things I've learned, they're encoded in muscle memory. I don't know how to fight as a boy!)

(The things you have learned are in your mind, Jennor, and your mind is perfectly fungible between morphs,) he explained. (You need to keep your mind in his head. It will be difficult. His brain will make you think like him. But you must resist it. You must use your talents, your memories, your abilities. Do not surrender to his form, Jennor, just because you must fight in it.)

(Why can't I just fight as me?) I asked.

(I don't understand why you're arguing, Jennor, you forget that this means you can't fight more than two hours at a time. It is my responsibility to ensure you do not become a _nothlit_. I take my responsibilities very seriously, _aristh_. Many warriors get stuck in the trenches for days at a time, and you will have a two-hour workday.) He scoffed at me and turned again to the navigations panel.

(We should arrive in about three hours. Be sure to eat heartily before we depart. There may not be grass there,) he said.

(No grass?) I asked, horrified.

(See? It's not so hard,) he said, correctly reading the look on my face.

The next three hours were torture. I had not forgotten Trainer's promise that I could speak to my father once we left Zero Space. Minutes grew exponentially long. I tapped my fingers impatiently, and rubbed my hoof in the dry, disgusting grass. Finally, I heard a subtle shift, and a hum I'd forgotten was even there suddenly changed pitch.

The Zero-Space engines were powering up. We were phasing back into normal space.

I walked up to the control panel so I could see the planet from the view screen, but a powerful glare from his stalk eye told me to keep my distance. I obeyed, watching our descent to the planet from my limited angle.

As we approached, I saw the planet itself was a gray, dead thing, covered in thick, impenetrable clouds. It had two moons—one was green and vibrant, littered with the pleasing, relieving sight of hundreds of Andalite craft. The other was red and dusty, and sunlight reflected off of a large, artificial mirror, covering most of the northeastern hemisphere, straight to the Andalite-occupied moon. Swarms of Bug fighters and Blade Ships hovered around the iron-toned moon, and large command ships—Dome Ships for the Andalites, Pool Ships for the Yeerks—marked out a careful boundary in space for each.

(They're trying to affect the weather,) Trainer said with a laugh, referring to the mirror. (Morons.)

(Andalite vessel, state your identification code,) A thought-speech voice came from the transmitter.

The communication was back up!

(This is Andalite Vessel Beta-47258-QPS, codenamed _Alina_. Request permission to land on the Andalite moon and assist in this effort.)

(Where are you coming from, Vessel _Alina_?)

(Andal,) Trainer responded.

(How is she?) The voice asked.

(Safe,) Trainer said.

(We haven't had news from the homeworld in months. Prepare to be debriefed when you disembark. How many in your complement, _Alina_?)

(Just two. Myself, and my _aristh_, Cristex-Sirium-Regelas.)

The stalk eye grinned at me.

(Clear for landing at docking bay Theta-113-B,) the voice responded. Trainer summoned a map of the moon and spotted our landing port.

(Long live the Electorate,) Trainer said with a relieved sigh.

The communication terminated, and I walked up to Trainer.

(Can I call my father now?) I asked, reaching a hand towards the control panel. (You said I could use communication once—)

Striking like a snake, one of his hands grabbed my wrist hard and curled it so it reached toward my shoulder. His eyes assaulted mine with a furious, almost insane glare, a look of such hatred and anger, I knew the cause was not merely my simple request. His fingernails dug into my cold flesh and drew blood.

(Were you not just paying attention, _aristh_?) Trainer said, addressing me formally for the first time, using hard and loud Form Alpha. (They have not had contact with the Homeworld in months. Because of the nebula. Do you remember when I explained that to you?)

(But...but you said…) I said, feebly shaking my arm.

(Now you understand the importance of this battle,) he said. (Imagine the men who have been stuck here for months, even years, wanting only to talk to their wives and children again. Imagine how that feels, Jennor.)

(But my father—)

(Your father is content, Jennor, perhaps for the first time since your birth. He didn't care about you before, he doesn't care now. In fact, your disappearance has probably elated him.)

I felt my hearts splinter in protest. (You're wrong. He cares, but he just doesn't know how…) Behind Trainer's fury, I felt a single note of pity and remorse.

(Go warm your hands,) he said, releasing me with a look of disgust. (You feel vile.)

I covered my face with my hands and breathed slowly, watching that terrible stalk eye the whole time.

We landed on the verdant moon shortly after, nestling into the docking cradle while a warm breeze swayed palm fronds and sent looping ribbons of pollen through the air. I had morphed to Cristex, scuffing my awkward adolescent hooves on the grass, testing my proportionately puny tail blade. Trainer had, as he promised, filled my holster with all sorts of weapons and refilled the cartridge on my Shredder. The anger ebbed a little in my new form, but I still felt the sick and deranged desire to use his gifts on him.

They debriefed him for a long time. I stood outside the door of a long, grimy hallway within a poorly-constructed and unkempt base trench with my hand on my holster, counting down the minutes until I would be stuck in this form forever. The longer it took, the angrier I got. Angry that I knew they were asking him every for detail about a home they could barely remember and only mourn. They wanted a complete picture of the world they left behind, a world so far away that it probably felt like a distant dream. I knew they were entranced by his descriptions, enamored by his testimony, in love with what his presence offered. And every bit of relief and happiness it gave them gave me bitterness and regret.

He'd been right.

Why did he have to be right?

Why couldn't his lies be overt and contradictable? Why was he making it so difficult to counter him?

With five minutes in morph to spare, he exited the room with a large, heavily scarred War-Prince and a meek, pale transcriptionist. He patted them on the back, laughing about some inside joke he had formed in his limited time with them.

(All right, Tuxebi, you keep us updated on your equatorial _estreens_,) the War-Prince said with a laugh. (This your _aristh_?)

(Yes, that's Cristex.)

(Little young, isn't he?) He asked, cocking his head to the side.

(Just got a foal's face, that's all. He could slice right through a Blade Ship, given the chance,) Trainer assured them. The War-Prince shrugged in assent.

(I better publish this testimony,) The transcriptionist said. (I think this will really improve morale around here.)

He scuttled away, moving with a vitality and puffed-up importance that seemed wrong on him.

(Well, we better go get settled into quarters,) Trainer said. (Cristex, why don't you go on ahead? You look a little...parched,) he said. He bowed his head down, looking at me hard. He was being overly obvious. I knew what he meant, but the War-Prince seemed too distracted by his momentary relief and homesickness to care.

I went to our quarters and demorphed, pacing impatiently until Trainer returned. (What are our orders?) I asked.

(I apologize for cutting it so close,) Trainer said. (I won't let that happen again.)

I glared at him until he answered my question.

(There are two main objectives here, Jennor. The first is defending the green moon.)

(So we're going there?) I asked.

(The second objective is mining the planet. That's where they need us,) he said.

(The gray thing? With...clouds?) I asked.

(I tried to get us on the moon, Jennor. It appeals to me more as well. I don't want to traipse around in mud anymore than you do.)

(But the clouds cover everything. Maybe there's grass underneath.)

(There's water. But only because it's a gray, lifeless swamp.) He paused and attempted a comforting smile, but it came across as unnatural and forced. (This is less dangerous. It's solitary work. There will be no need to use the boy's morph while we're there. Don't worry, Jennor. We're fighting. We're doing our part. Get some rest. We shuttle down there tomorrow.)

He walked next door, into his own quarters, vastly larger than mine. I stood with my hands covering my face. I no longer had the need to warm my hands, but I couldn't pull them away.

In less than a month, my life had collapsed. I had thought war was going to be honorable, clean, beautiful. I had thought war was going to be fun. But this wasn't honorable. This was rank, and hungry, and infectious. There was room for no other emotion than utter, unadulterated horror.

Hope was fluttering away like leaves on the wind. Terenia's face, once so clear in my mind, was suddenly a memory I struggled to latch onto. And Father…I wanted nothing more than to have him hold me and tell me how proud he was of me. But he wouldn't be proud. I was a coward. I wanted to go home.

With my hands still pressed hard against my face, I felt myself succumb to the awful time warp of sleep that would only bring my doom to me that much quicker. I could think of no other possibility for the tomorrow. That's all that my future held now.

Doom.


	13. Chapter Eleven: Ax

Chapter Eleven

Aximili

PART ONE OF THREE

"So you haven't heard _anything_ from the Sharing? Nothing at all?"

"I'm as concerned as the rest of you," Erek the Chee admitted.

"Maybe they're onto you guys. Maybe they suspect that you're all a bunch of robot double agents. But instead of indulging in shaken martinis and femme fatales named things like 'Maxine Kleavage,' you just play with dogs."

The conversation was a distant din, wound tightly in insulation, kept far from view. I was somewhere else entirely.

_You can borrow these_, I had said to her, holding out the clean pair of my underwear. Her face was expressionless, but every other part of her nude form might have been screaming at me.

"Ax? Has this ever happened before, in any other battles with the Yeerks? Where they just seem to shut down all operations? Go dormant?"

She'd put her warm hand on my shoulder as I held the briefs up for her. Gripped my neck to keep her balance. And as she slid inside the pointless garment, my thumb ran up the length of her leg.

Strange, how even in Andalite form, the memory still affected me. It seemed the morphing technology had changed the structure of my mind: deep within the folds and contours of my cerebral cortex, there was a part that was human, harrier, spider, shark. Part that was entirely animal. Perhaps that part of me always would be. And that part was deeply engaged with that shamefully pleasurable memory.

Yet, to fantasize about sexual encounters with alien morphs was more than perversion, more than bestiality. It was corruption on the highest order, complete treason against my race, and—

(Ax?) Tobias asked.

Well, perhaps that was all simply exaggeration.

Relentless excitement charged through me. The kind of electric energy that flexes your muscles, twitches your tail, rears you up on your hind legs. The kind you have to shake, whip, and sprint loose. The slightest annoyance is met with open hostility, the tiniest bit of good news inspires fits of giggling and squirming. I hadn't felt this way in years. Not even when I met the Animorphs and realized that my life had taken an abrupt, core-shaking turn. That was fear, sickness, terrible rage and animosity toward Visser Three. It drained me. It did not overcharge me, like this. I had wanted to crawl inside a scoop and hide. Now I wanted to scream and run and announce that I was very much alive.

It had been two months and the feeling had yet to ebb in the slightest.

(Hey guys, since Ax is not currently tuned in, I do have some news that everyone might find interesting—)

(No, Jake,) I interrupted quickly. (I mean…well, there was the Lysidian outpost incident, but without the premiere of the Onganchic's latest piece of kabuki theater, and the interfering element of vagabond Ssstram prostitution rings, it is too unlike the current situation.)

The Animorphs stared at me for a moment before Rachel asked impatiently, "So, yes or no, should we be concerned?"

(They are clearly planning something. But we can do nothing until we have more information, is that not correct?)

Cassie shrugged. "It seems weird just sitting around waiting."

"Like they say, war is 95% waiting around and 5% pissing yourself."

"Nothing we can do yet, then. Everyone just…be sure to stay hydrated," Jake said, nudging Marco in the ribs. "So, Tobias? What's your news?"

I slowly, pleadingly turned my gaze up at him. He glared down at me.

(Just, you know, there's this little family of bobcats in the forest. The kittens are, um, cute. Thought Cassie might be interested.)

She smiled and nodded in thanks.

The meeting ended and Tobias and I slowly made our way back to the forest.

(I hate feeling like this, Ax. I feel like a traitor, keeping her from them.)

(She has not interfered directly with any of our operations. And she has, so far, maintained a stable truce with us. If we break that truce, I fear she may follow through on her threat to murder all of you. You no longer consider informing them a risk to that security?)

(Yeah, but—)

(Besides, does she not deserve the same privacy and security that we enjoy? She has done nothing on this planet besides acquaint herself with the dominant species. We have no evidence that she is even involved in the war. Perhaps she is just trying to live peacefully, enjoy the human fitness lessons she engages in, trying desperately not to bring attention to herself. She is my prince, Tobias, and I must respect her wishes.)

I was fabricating now, and doing a rather poor job of it. I held my breath waiting for Tobias to respond.

Tobias said nothing and flew on ahead of me. I felt the strange urge to chase after him in some childish game. But also to ensure his commitment in keeping my prince concealed.

As I have said, I was relentlessly excited.

For a while, I had tried to attribute it to some other factor—a change in the weather, a renewed optimism for the war effort. But nothing could deny the true cause. The girl had crashed into my life with such an amount of flame and smoke that even now, my hearts still smoldered.

It irritated me. Sleep rarely came easily, and my concentration during the morning and evening rituals had greatly diminished. I was always distracted by her. Though it irritated me, the paranoia and impatience were feelings that I could not live without. I did not like it, but it was better than the apathy and confusion that had defined me before.

It was a mistake to allow myself to feel so strongly. I knew this. If she'd been paying any attention to me, she would have disciplined me for performing so poorly in the rituals. They were an indicator of my current focus, a great necessity in battle. But then again, if she'd paid any attention to me, she would have had my absolute focus.

(You think I don't get it, don't you?) Tobias asked, preening his feathers within his tree. (You think your subtle little secrets are beyond my sight. Well, Ax, I'm a hawk. I've got good eyes that are a little too strong to be blinded by anything you can come up with. But, judging by the way you've been acting lately, I think maybe you have been.)

(Blinded, you mean? By what?) I asked, running through Tobias' field, unnaturally hungry for a relatively inactive time in the day. Jennor had not come home last night. I had stayed up later than usual waiting for her.

(Oh, come on, Ax. I'm not the same species as her and even I can tell she's a slice.)

("Slice?") I asked. The only image that "slice" called to mind was her long, flawless tail blade.

(You really think you're fooling me, don't you? You don't need to feel bad about it. It makes sense. You had a little case of post-traumatic Estrid disorder, and the next random Andalite to crash-land on Earth happens to be a good-looking, totally insane lady. You didn't stand a chance, Ax-man.)

(I have told you time and time again that I bear no residual feelings for Estrid,) I explained calmly, though my hooves flared and ingested a troubling quantity of dirt at his accusation. I slowed down to clear them of the filth, and Tobias swooped down from his tree to land on a pine branch just above me, judging me with his precise hawk eyes.

(No, not Estrid. Not anymore. All the same, let's be absolutely sure she doesn't try to wipe out humanity with a flesh-eating retrovirus or anything like that, 'kay?) Tobias caught a headwind and went off to hunt.

I had not heeded Tobias' warning, and his correct diagnosis went untreated. What had begun as a small, flimsy hope had progressed into a constant dull aching.

The fact that she rarely returned to the scoop did not help matters.

Her absence was not merely a physical one. Though she spent most of her time outside of the forest, refusing to tell me where she was going or where she'd been, even when she was present, I did not feel the strength of her identity as I had that first night. Her eyes were flat and emotionless, and there was no color in her speech, no images that gave me any hint of how she felt or what she thought. There was no subtext. Her expertise at Form Alpha communication was impeccable. She might as well have been soldered from metal, fueled by battery acid. She was unreadable, uninteresting, and unchangeable.

But I pored over the unreadable text, invested deeply in her ennui, and became obsessed with changing her. Just once, I would break her interminable to-do list, make her pause between tasks, make her see the humans as people, me as more than a tool. Just once, I wanted her to look at me.

I was not an item on her list. She had no reason to associate with me, to burden herself with the inconvenience of my presence. She never looked at me. Always past me, to the next task.

It surprised me, then, when I found her standing in human morph in my scoop after I returned from the meeting in Cassie's barn, gazing curiously at a soap opera on TV.

She was holding a white uniform and a long, green belt with a white stripe down the middle. Having shredded the first shirt and pants I had given her, despite my warning about morphing clothing, she now wore a large, hooded sweatshirt and black leggings, provided by Rachel. I cannot describe, nor do I fully understand, the look that came over the Animorphs when I asked them for female clothing. I'd told them it was for me, so I could better understand the human race, but this only exacerbated the looks. Tobias had rolled his eyes in frustration, but only Cassie, to my slight panic, narrowed her eyes in vague suspicion.

(What is the informational purpose of this program?) She asked. Two months after acquainting herself with humanity, she still preferred thought-speech communication. She refused to eat anything as well, even though I had brought her samples of my favorite Earth foods on three separate occasions. Her mouth remained a pursed, static line.

(It has no informational purpose,) I responded, inching slowly forward in my Andalite form, as though approaching too quickly would cause her to scatter like a flock of birds. (Well, I suppose some people consider it informational, but they're generally the ones who watch far too much of it. That's how I understand it, anyway, they even publish periodicals outlining the plots and the personal lives of the actors. I read one in a grocery store with Tobias, it was purely—)

Her eyes narrowed, and I realized I was babbling.

(A soap opera. It's entertainment,) I summarized. She nodded slowly in understanding.

(Humans devote far too many of their medium-range communication channels to entertainment,) she said, looking back at the TV. The action was taking place in a bedroom. A tall, broad human male was kissing a shorter, thin human female with bright yellow hair. Though he focused on her lips, his hands meandered down her shoulders, over her breasts, down her back. She began kissing his neck and chest. This went on for some time, until the camera appeared to lose interest and focused on the window in the background, from which a jealous ex-lover was watching.

(They are rather obsessed with their own forms,) she noted. Confused by her sudden and inexplicable idle speculation, I realized that this could be a valuable opportunity.

(Prince—Ma'am—Sir,) I stuttered, and her gaze shifted lazily to myself. (If you are not currently busy with anything else, I was wondering—)

(I have returned from the practice of "Tae Kwon Do." I have a lesson in the human "gymnastics" in two hours,) she interrupted. (I am not currently busy.)

(Excellent. Ever since I arrived on Earth, I have been without an Andalite companion. This has been very inconvenient for me, for a number of reasons, including the fact that though humans are not without their good qualities, they are tedious conversationalists and terrible—)

I stopped myself. I was babbling again.

(I haven't had a challenging sparring partner since...) I stopped myself, unwilling to discuss the exobiologist I'd been in love with. (Since my brother,) I said slowly. (I was hoping—)

(Very well, _aristh_,) she said. (As your prince, it is my duty to evaluate and condition your fighting abilities. I have been most negligent in this aspect.) At this, in one fluid motion, she removed her sweatshirt and began to demorph. For the briefest of moments, her human breasts were fully visible, unchanged, and exposed, and their sudden, elastic presence spirited me, once again, back to that day two months ago when she had stood entirely naked in the empty alley by the mall.

It had been exhilarating. It is difficult to understand why. I knew I was morphed, that I shared the same blood, hormones, and compatibility with her, and that this shaped my perception more than anything, but it was not the only thing that surprised me. I was shocked she revealed herself so shamelessly in the first place. She was so skilled at concealing her emotions that I expected her to treat her human body with the same level of caution.

It had been the first time she had ever morphed human. She was too focused on adjusting to the alien body and instincts to understand that she should be ashamed of her form. I was an expert in arbitrary human taboos, and yet, I was only concerned with watching her. It was impolite at the very least, treasonous at the most, disrespecting my prince to such a degree. Witnessing her dark human form emerge from her beautiful Andalite body was captivating, hypnotizing. Pleasurable. Her skin was the warm color of wet sand, her hair was black, shiny, bouncing in natural, coiled springs. Her eyes lost their exotic brilliance but gained a sort of dark mystery and wariness. She was short and thick-limbed, unlike the long, natural grace of Rachel's human morph, but I found her beautiful nonetheless. I did not know why.

Watching her in my human form had a strange effect on me. A pleasant, tingling sensation passed through me, an electric hunger that I'd never before known. Not unlike the desire for Cinnabons, but a little more removed, a little more intellectual. A goal-driven desire, not impulse-driven. I watched her bend over awkwardly, trying to apply the blue jeans which had taken me weeks to master: breasts dangling precariously below her squirming ribs, a lost little puff of hair settled in a wide triangle at the base of her legs. I had never seen a naked human female before. Female nudity was a sensitive, embarrassing subject. Perhaps all human males felt such sensations upon viewing naked females. They should have warned me about this. Perhaps it was not my fault at all.

But now, watching as blue fur rippled down her body, as her two front legs erupted suddenly from her stomach, a similar feeling emerged, a warm tingling that spread throughout my shins and shoulders. Guilt returned, though now there was no excuse about removed, alien forms to temper it. I breathed deeply, attempting to quell the feeling as she completed her morph. Her eyes blazed with flat indifference, and she whipped her tail around in a wide, arced blur.

I didn't want to fight her anymore.


	14. Chapter Eleven: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

(Do you wish your scoop destroyed?) She asked.

(No,) I responded. I'd given up trying to decipher her non sequiturs. She used them to make condescending points, and it was easier to allow her.

(Then perhaps we should venture elsewhere,) she said. (I assume you are an uncontrolled and undisciplined tail fighter.)

To my surprise, I laughed. (Believe what you must,) I gloated.

Hands folded behind her back, she slowly made her way to the meadow where we both fed, beckoning me to follow with an impatient, glowing stalk eye.

She twirled her tail around in the air, a thick package of muscle and power moving nearly independently from her body. Her long pink blade shimmered in the sun: healthy, marbled, and sharp. My own male version paled, flaking slightly from bad upkeep. I couldn't keep cutting into trees to exfoliate it. I wondered how she kept hers so pristine.

(What form are you planning to use?) She asked as she turned to me.

(I'm not telling you that,) I scoffed. How brazen, how shameless to ask for my exact plan of attack!

(No, I suppose not. It does not matter. I shall know soon,) she said.

(What form are you going to use on me?) I asked, gently mocking her.

Slowly, her eyes passed up and down my body, arms still securely held behind her back. (Beta series, level two,) she responded. My eyes widened in surprise, partly because she had graded me as a bigger threat than I ever considered myself, and partly that she had the inclination to tell me at all.

I suddenly realized what she was doing and laughed. (Pre-combat deception and aversion,) I said, smiling. (You'd never honestly tell me what form you were going to use against me.)

(Why wouldn't I?) She asked. I began to doubt myself, falling for what I was sure was her sly manipulation.

(Because...we're going to fight. You'd be giving me an unfair advantage.)

(We are not fighting, _aristh_. We are sparring. Training. Learning,) she explained. (Any advantage I give you is so you will learn. Do you know how to prepare for a beta-2 attack?)

I passed my eyes over her once more, not sure I believed her. (You'll aim high,) I said. (For my neck, eyes, and head. I should begin defensively, try and frustrate you so you'll make a mistake.)

(Do you think you can frustrate me, _aristh_?) She asked, stepping forward and turning sideways, taking her fighting stance.

(Ah, you fight in the open position,) I said, another smile coming to my eyes. (It provides you with a greater range at the expense of vulnerability. Most consider that form archaic. Too dangerous.)

(Most are too cautious,) she responded. She stretched out her tail, each vertebrae locking into place, forming into a long, hard staff. Then she relaxed, and it curled long above her, turning slowly in its ascent 90 degrees so her tail blade was facing me. It twitched eagerly, ready, poised. I watched it carefully with my right stalk eye, just as I had been instructed. It moved without pattern, which was a rudimentary but difficult skill to master. Of course, we hadn't even begun the fight, and that was a skill that decreased with exhaustion.

I tried to keep light on my hooves, tried to remember that speed and reaction were more important than strength. But the size of her blade scared me, and I found my hooves digging hard into the dirt to structure myself, preparing a strong blow I hoped would distract and overpower it.

I stood before her impatiently waiting for her to attack, but she only watched me, her eyes flat as ever, though I could swear there was a hint of amusement in them. Her tail flicked around everywhere, waiting and taunting.

Despite our review of how to defend against form Beta-2, I decided to attack first.

I faced her frontwards, and threw my tail over my head for her chest. Motionlessly, her own blade blocked it, brushing it aside like it was a pile of crumbs on a tabletop. I composed myself and took a step back, examining her movement, trying to find a weakness.

Her main eyes never left mine, and I felt the guilt from before mix in with the fear of her flawless parry, and I was suddenly unsure that I could keep looking at her.

_Ignore it_, I thought to myself. _Don't feel, think._

I breathed deeply and kept gazing into her inscrutable eyes. I struck again, aiming for her flank this time. Again, motionless, her tail blade was there to intercept. I couldn't even fathom how it got there, it moved so fast. Again, she flicked away my own blade. She hadn't moved at all, still standing in the same position she had set herself in. Even her stalk eyes remained static, content to gaze at my hooves and arms.

I felt frustration rise up in me. Twice I had struck to gain some insight into her fighting, and twice she had left me with nothing but humiliation. I set my hooves in the dirt and flung my tail blade at her as hard as I could.

Again, she blocked easily, but this time there was shock to absorb. I saw her tail buckle slightly at the force.

_So that's how to do it_, I thought. _Brute strength._

Before she had a chance to reset herself, I struck again, throwing all of my back and legs into the blow. I wasn't even aiming, just pouring all of my strength into my tail, screaming through the air aiming right between her stalk eyes.

The blow ended up coming down straight over her head. It would have been fatal, bifurcating her brain, had her tail blade not been there as a perfect shield, making a loud, cracking sound that reverberated through the meadow.

My tail blade chipped and got stuck in hers. She took the opportunity to twist her tail in little circles, contorting my tail like a finger that screamed in protest and finally snapped from the pressure. She pulled her blade from mine and took a few steps back, allowing me to survey the damage.

I looked up at my tail blade with a stalk eye. She had chipped away a large divot in the middle of my blade, like a dent in an old fingernail. I swung my tail around, trying to find the muscle she had pulled, but it seemed that all she had done was pop a stiff joint. My tail moved more freely than before.

I looked up at her again, her eyes as flat and emotionless as ever. A thin veil of sweat outlined her forehead and cheeks, and her shoulders rose and fell rhythmically with aerobic breath. I touched my own forehead, feeling sweat drip down freely, much less modest in this thick, hot Earth air. I wiped it away and approached her.

Seeing her physical deterioration inspired a sudden rush of confidence and I decided to try some of the forms she suggested. She turned sideways and snapped her tail up into ready position. I lunged forward, aiming for the middle of her flank, and her tail curled down to block mine. Twitching it in front of her, like she was supposed to, I used her momentum and turned my blade upward, aiming for her throat. She caught my blade from underneath and shoved it back towards me. I took a step back and moved to my right, toward her back, forcing her to change her footing. She circled, facing me the same way always, main eyes on mine and stalk eyes on my hooves and arms.

We continued for a while, attack and parry, until I was exhausted, heaving in saturated Earth air, my lungs craving something fresher and cooler. Sweat poured down my chest, flanks, and forehead, and my shins felt sticky with thirst. I looked up at her, and though she was breathing just as heavily as I, less sweaty, but still clearly exhausted, her tail still twitched randomly. She gave no other sign of weakness besides the necessary ones her body required.

I rubbed the sweat from the back of my neck and gave one more feeble blow that was meant to be strong—she sensed my exhaustion and threw my blade aside with less force than before. She was going easy on me.

(That's it!) I screamed suddenly, overcome with frustration. (This is pointless! Just attack me already!)

(Very well, _aristh_,) she said, and her demeanor changed entirely. A mechanical mania came to those empty eyes, and though I wanted to call it emotion, that's not what it was. It was like a program. A switch had been flipped, and as proper, disciplined, and obeisant a warrior she was off the battlefield, she was fierce, cruel, and effective on it. It was a jarring change, but it made sense. This was what she unleashed, what she needed to keep caged, what she unlocked when the situation called for it. Yet it was unnatural and contrived. She was acting. Pretending. Lying.

Her tail moved faster than my eyes could follow. It whipped around her, making quick, moaning, whooshing sounds, a pink blur in the pale sunlight.

I quickly regretted the challenge, and hot prickles rose up my back. I watched her closely, though it was difficult to keep gazing into those hard, merciless eyes. I watched the base of her tail and her hooves and decided to let instinct take over.

I blocked the first couple of her blows. I recognized that she was using the Beta-2 form, though she was mixing in elements of Alpha-7 and Gamma-4. One instant I blocked a blow designed to slice my neck, the next, I was protecting my shoulder from dismemberment. I fell behind in the rhythms, so that I was just barely catching her tail blade before it met its target.

Finally, I missed.

I felt hot, glowing, screaming pain erupt from the top of my left stalk eye, and it went blind. I reeled backwards, my hands feebly trying to squeeze out the pain, and I felt hot, slimy blood, not yet even dried into stickiness, cover my hands.

But she did not relent.

She continued slicing, her tail moving in astutely preconceived patterns, unreadable and invisible. I felt slices open up all over me, as though something from inside was cutting me open to escape. Despite her clear advantage, she was not going for killing blows. The strikes were random. I tried to keep blocking her, but now that I was half blind, there was little I could do. Finally, with the blunt end of her tail blade, she hit me in both of my shins so fast it felt simultaneous. Lightning struck through my legs, I dropped to my knees, and her tail blade was at my throat.

I blinked out the sunlight and the stream of blood and looked up at her. Her eyes were still hard, green like jade, but they softened slowly after gazing down at me, returning to their flat, emotionless state. She pulled her tail away, and though I knew she had perfect self-control, she nicked me a little.

I kept gazing into her eyes, both too afraid to look away and too afraid to hold it. She was breathing hard, but a final long sigh returned her to her natural state. (You clench your left fist right before you strike,) she said. (The imbalance in your left hind leg surrenders where your blow will land within fifteen degrees.)

I tried to catch my breath, but the throbbing, shooting, spicy pain still ripped through me. I held her gaze, though I wanted to look away in shame. (Thank you, Prince,) I said appropriately. (I appreciate the skill and wisdom you imparted to me. I realize I have much to learn, and I hope you will feel inclined to impart more wisdom and skill in the near future.) My words were rehearsed, a part of a rather pervasive and customary ritual, but she seemed shocked by them. I reached up with my hand for her to pull me to my hooves, but her eyes narrowed, and she only gazed at it before turning around.

(We will train again. You are not unsalvageable,) she noted as she made her way slowly back to the scoop, hands still tucked behind her back.

I morphed to human on the spot and didn't return to the scoop in time for her to leave. I felt humiliated. My nagging desire to see her changed immediately to disgust and aversion, half for her and half for myself. She hadn't just beaten me. If we had really been dueling, it wouldn't have even been a challenge for her.

I sat in the clearing until Tobias swooped down from his hunt.

(You haven't resorted to eating grass and dirt, have you?) He asked

"Hello, Tobias," I responded.

(You all right, Ax-man?) He fluttered uncharacteristically to the ground so he could look me straight in the eye.

"I suppose so." He gazed at me for a while before responding.

(We really have to squeeze this crush out of you, don't we?)

"If we squeeze what is already crushing me, I shall be entirely pulverized."

(Well, then let's blow it up. Some sawdust, gasoline, orange juice. There was something else. Rachel and I saw Fight Club last night.)

"If we are going to blow something up, I'm sure we can find something a little more potent than orange juice here."

(Oh, right, she's got a lot of that...stuff, doesn't she?) His sneer was evident even in hawk form. Tobias had wanted me to peruse her medical box the first time she had stepped hoof off of our land, but I had refused, respecting her privacy and wanting to uphold what little trust our tenuous relationship had produced.

I rose to a standing position and swept off the twigs, dirt, and grass that had accumulated on my skintight shorts. I looked through the forest, hoping to see whether she was still at the scoop, but my human eyesight was too weak.

"Is she gone?" I asked him. Tobias hopped around and peered into the forest.

(Yeah, she took that leotard. I thought it was Rachel's. Where did she get a leotard?)

I made my way slowly back to the scoop. Tobias hopped into the air, gaining altitude so he could fly over the trees. It took him a while to get high enough. By the time he arrived at the scoop, I was already searching.

(You're finally looking for that box, aren't you?) Tobias asked after I had already strewn around what little clothing and human food I had.

"I only wish to see what she has," I said. It was partly true. Such a skilled tail fighter must have all sorts of interesting and useful weapons, and it was inefficient for her to keep them for herself. But our encounter had reinvigorated my curiosity about her, and I felt there was something in that box that would explain everything. I decided to act before the crushing reality of the consequences would convince me not to.

(You don't need to explain yourself to me. I told you to look in that thing weeks ago.)

"Insubordination is a serious and punishable offense," I said. "If she finds out I'm looking, she will be able to administer the appropriate consequences."

(Well, we certainly don't want to give her another excuse to kill us,) Tobias said with a strange, insincere tone.


	15. Chapter Eleven: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

I tore apart my scoop looking for her things. I spilled stacks of magazines and newspapers, I dug through piles of clothing, and I scattered all the little electronic projects I was working on. I scoured every inch of my belongings, and it took me fifteen minutes to finally guess where she'd hidden it. I felt uncomfortable at the thought of touching her few personal items, because she kept them so pristine and orderly. I was sure, even if I could remember exactly how she had them, she would know I had moved them.

But the box was buried under them, only a few inches below the dirt. The assemblage of the pile and the sureness of retribution from disturbing it were the only thing protecting it.

I swept off the dirt and opened it up.

On top, of course, was her Shredder and holster. Tobias had morphed to human and was watching from over my shoulder.

"Kind of pretty, isn't it?" He asked.

"It is a vastly inferior weapon. I believe you humans would refer to something like this as a 'piece of junk.'" I placed it carefully aside, folding the holster over it.

I dug inside a little more. Folded beneath the weapon, lining the box, was a sheer fabric that I recognized as coming from a standard Andalite scoop—the thinnest waterproof and inflammable material Andalite hands could craft. Since waterproof material was no longer necessary for scoops on Andal, I assumed she had gotten it from another planet. I wondered why she hadn't offered to use it for my scoop; it had already rained several times since she had arrived.

I pulled back the fabric, and gasped at what I saw.

Beneath the fabric was a minefield. Thousands of small, blue, gel-filled balls, floating like a sea of glass beads, covered the remainder of the interior of the box.

I felt myself go still at the revelation. Tobias sensed my sudden apprehension. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're mines," I responded. "Explosives."

"They're tiny," he said. "They're just little blue balls, are you sure?"

"I've seen these before," I said. "In the Andalite field manual. You remove small portions of Shredder fuel from their cartridges and repackage it in heat-sensitive wrapping. They explode when the temperature exceeds about 100 degrees Fahrenheit."

"It could get that hot here," he whispered. "She's trying to kill us! The coward can't even confront us face to face!"

"No, I don't believe so," I responded. "This fabric protects them from the elements. Keeps things cool. She doesn't want them to explode yet. In addition, if that was her goal, it would be pointless to engage in such a tedious, sensitive task as repackaging them like this."

"Then what is she doing?" Tobias asked.

"I don't know," I responded. Carefully, I folded the material back over the mines, replacing her Shredder and holster. Despite my panic, I knew I had to stay calm. I reburied the box slowly, making sure the dirt was packed as densely as it had been when I dug it up. I replaced her belongings just as I remembered, though I was sure a spare wrinkle or particle of dirt would give away my treachery.

And then I had to wait.

She actually returned to the scoop immediately following her gymnastics class. Regret welled up in me. I hadn't even considered that our spar earlier in the day had meant anything to her at all, but evidently the little contact we'd had eased her suspicion of me. She almost looked comfortable when she walked inside, sweatshirt and leggings pulled over her leotard. She pulled off her sweatshirt and demorphed.

(Welcome back,) I said once she finished, trying not to sound guilty. She eyed me suspiciously, her stalk eye traveling down my body and then over to her pile. (Thank you, _aristh_,) she responded.

(Did you have a productive lesson?) I asked, trying to distract her from the thought train that was inevitably charging through her head.

She stared at me with her main eyes, and in her silence, she told me she knew everything.

Keeping a stalk eye locked on me, she shoved away the clothes and books that comprised her pile and unburied the medical box. She pulled out her holster, put it on, and placed the Shredder in it carefully. Then she unfolded the cloth, and with fanned, eager hands, pulled heaping handfuls of the mines into her holster.

(Careful!) I yelled before I could stop myself. She glared at me with her stalk eye.

(It is a shame,) she sighed. (I thought we were making progress.)

I wanted to step forward to stop her, an irrational fear that she was about to commit suicide sweeping through me, but her eye kept me back. Whatever plan those mines necessitated had suddenly been accelerated.

When all of her pockets were full, not a single mine out of place, she looked back up at me with her main eyes, betrayed and careful, and gave me a single order:

(Don't follow me. I will kill you later.)

With that, she went galloping toward civilization.

She did not return that night, or for the rest of the week. At first I was angry that she hadn't given me a chance to explain, but further thought led me to realize that there was nothing to explain. She had assumed everything correctly, and the only thing I could do was corroborate her theory. I wasn't afraid that she'd kill me, I only feared that she would never return. In fact, though her vow shocked me at first, it was the only thing that gave any indication that she planned to return at all. Once again, I felt such crushing loneliness that I was distracted in a meeting with the Animorphs an evening five days afterwards.

"I hate to do this now, I mean, I hate to do it ever, but my parents have been bugging Tom for weeks," Jake was saying. "And besides, if the Yeerks are taking a break, maybe we should, too."

I hadn't been paying attention and had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's probably better this way. It feels so weird fighting with one of us gone. I get distracted. Let's shotgun it." Rachel agreed.

"That's not the only thing that distracts you when you're fighting," Marco said. "I know you find my gorilla studly, Rachel. You don't have to hide your true feelings anymore."

Rachel couldn't think of a response and rolled her eyes.

"Are you all right with this, Ax? This isn't really that big a deal for any of us but you," Cassie said. I gazed at her and swept my stalk eyes around to the rest of them.

(I'm not quite sure what we're discussing,) I admitted.

"College visits. My parents want Tom and me to get a leg up. We're only freshman, but they think this saves money. We'll be gone about a week," Jake explained.

(Who comprises "we"?)

"Well his parents got the idea, called my parents, both of us decided we didn't want to go alone, so Jake invited Marco, and I invited Cassie and Tobias." Rachel said.

(You're all going?) I said, looking up at Tobias.

(Think you can man the fort while I'm gone?) He asked publicly. Then, in a private note, he said: (I don't think she'll kill you, Ax, if she does come back. Isn't there something in the rules about princes not killing _arisths_?)

I sighed. (I will miss you, Tobias, but I'm sure I can handle the girl.) To the rest of the Animorphs: (Enjoy your college visits. I think I can manage being alone for one week.)

"Any trips to the food court without adult supervision are strictly prohibited," Marco said in an authoritative voice. The rest of the Animorphs laughed, but I felt a sickness rise in my stomachs.

Tobias and I returned slowly to the scoop. (How do you plan to go? You can't stay in human morph longer than two hours, and I believe remorphing in the human automobiles may prove unsettling to Rachel's mother,) I said.

(Yeah, and even with a faked overactive bladder, I can't guarantee a bathroom break that periodically,) he said. (I'm following as a hawk. If I get tired, Rachel's going to stash me in the back of the SUV. If their parents get suspicious about me popping up out of no where, I'll just explain that my uncle is conveniently in a bathroom or in line at the dining hall or back at the hotel with food poisoning.) I shrugged, it seemed a good a plan as any.

(You sure you're going to be okay?) Tobias asked.

(I have gained skill at being alone,) I said. (Please don't worry about me.) Tobias paused, then nodded once and flew off to meet Rachel for the night.

I was just dozing off when I heard rustling in the scoop. In my half-conscious state, I assumed Tobias was digging for something, but then I remembered that he was gone.

I opened my eyes to see Jennor scooped over her medical kit in Andalite morph, holster hanging off her hips, retrieving more mines.

(Don't bother me, _aristh_,) she warned.

(Are you going to kill me?) I asked. She paused and bowed her head.

(Not yet.)

(I'd like to offer my assistance with whatever it is you're planning,) I said. (As your _aristh_, it is my duty to—)

(No. I need no assistance. I am not required to allow you to tag along,) she said.

(I respectfully disagree. I think I could provide—)

(Respectfully,) she repeated the same way she had repeated "like" in the alley, turning a narrowed stalk eye slowly in my direction. She was mulling over the word. Considering if I meant it, based on how I'd already behaved.

(No, you're right,) I conceded. (There was nothing respectful in what I did. I apologize for digging up your medical kit without your permission.)

She carefully wiped the remainder of the mines sticking to her hands back into the kit. Then she turned her other stalk eye and watched me with both from over her shoulder.

(Explain your actions,) she whispered.

(I was curious. And worried. You're never here. I never know what you're doing. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.)

She seemed confused, but then settled. (I'm mining the Yeerk Pool, _aristh_,) she explained. (Why did you assume you could not ask?)

(I...it seemed...) I paused. Despite her aloof manner, she had never indicated that I had no right to question what she did. (Can you be more straightforward with me from now on? Can I be included in your plans?)

Her stalk eyes turned to avoid eye contact. I got the sense this was a conflict she had been avoiding.

(I will inform you of what I believe you should know,) she said. (Your mission is with the Animorphs. You are no good as half a soldier in two battles.)

(Don't I get to choose the battle?) I asked.

Something like a smile came to her eyes, but it had that same distant, contrived look that her fury had in our spar.

(We do not choose our battles, _aristh_. They choose us.)

She rose to her hooves, holster full of mines, and trotted back to civilization.

I made my decision before she had even left my line of sight. Maybe I couldn't choose my battle, but when one was paused, was it unreasonable to engage the other? And, now that the Animorphs were gone for the week, it appeared I had my chance.

I stayed as far away from her as I could. Once she reached the sight of the road, she morphed into her Goshawk, and spent about five minutes carefully adjusting the holster in her grip so she would disturb the mines as little as possible. It would be a heavy burden, but she seemed used to the weight. I morphed my Northern Harrier and followed her to the mall.

Once there, she sneaked in a utility entrance on the roof, and I followed her closely. She was headed for the Yeerk Pool. I assumed she would use the entrance I'd shown her in the Gap, though I was sure, if she'd been there before, she would be aware of others. Nonetheless, I allowed her time to get in before me, and I headed to the McDonalds and planned to meet her underground.

I realized the mistake as I was making it. I knew the Yeerks had installed Gleet BioFilters in their entrances to ensure that the hosts entering were not intruders, and I assumed she had disabled them in one of her previous visits. I did not stop to think of alternative methods for her to enter such a fortress. I was too set on following her, on proving that I was a worthy ally. I was so intent on helping her that the possibility of my presence hurting her didn't even occur to me.

I was halfway downstairs when the alarms began to blare. In my arrogance, I automatically blamed her. I began rushing down to distract the Yeerks so she would have a chance to flee, but once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw her in human morph, facing away, holster hidden from view, a handful of mines in her palm and three Hork-Bajir rushing towards me.

I was lucky in two ways—first of all, it was late at night, so there were very few Yeerks in the pool. A human controller was even sweeping the newly tiled deck of the Pool, shocked by my presence. Second, a small group of humans crossed in front of me immediately before the alarms began blaring, and I merged into their group with milliseconds to spare.

I could not hide there for long, and as soon as a new hiding place presented itself to me, I took it. I dove behind an equipment shack and waited for the alarms to stop blaring.

I pulled my knees into my chest, and soon, the alarms were silenced. My heart was hammering in my chest, my jaw chattering in fear. I was a coward, to hide like this, and I knew that. My prince was under threat, the enemy was mere yards away, and my sense of duty had been entirely overshadowed by my survival instinct. I should be executed for my cowardice. I berated myself long enough to swallow back my disgust and terror and begin to demorph.

I peeked behind the shed as quick reconnaissance, and I saw two Hork-Bajir sweeping the entire cavern, eyes glued to infra-red scanners, searching for the intruder.

I kept looking for the third, but I had no need. Before I pulled back into my hiding place, as two half-blind stalk eyes emerged from my quickly balding scalp, I could smell the rank, sour-milk-and-sawdust sweat of a Hork-Bajir guard.

"How very clever of the bandit to dig so deep," he said before he hit me with the butt of his Dracon Beam and knocked me out.


	16. Chapter Twelve: The Empress

Chapter Twelve

The Empress

PART ONE OF TWO

The first few hours were full of some of the most excruciating, overt, paranoid politics I had ever witnessed.

But I suppose that was simply fair payment for the fun I had afterward.

As soon as I stepped out of the projection room, I felt better. The twisting stress in my stomach melted away. I felt exhausted—not just mentally, from the stress of addressing everyone in the Empire, but physically, from a real desire for sleep. I breathed deeply, and my chest experienced that soft, heavy relaxation that presomulant breathing creates. My eyes felt heavy, the muscles in my upper body relaxed, and my legs felt stiff and difficult to move. My body wanted to rest.

Terenia was still sobbing quietly in my head. I felt a stroke of pity for her, but not much more than that. I breathed deeply again, and the depth of the breath stretched all the way into an Andalite yawn—I closed my eyes, and stretched my arms high above my head, feeling my ribs and lungs spasm in relaxation, tiny rivulets of air working into the flesh.

I turned a corner and spotted Nagrit. He did not look so relaxed.

"That was unwise, sir," he said in a sharp whisper.

(That remains to be seen,) I responded, allowing my tail and stalk eyes to droop as I slowly made my way back to my quarters.

"The Council is already up in arms. I've received transmissions from them all; they're demanding to know why you went off-script."

(Because it needed to be done,) I said. (I appreciate their concern, I really do. But this isn't their Empire.)

Nagrit leaped ahead of me and grabbed my shoulders with his massive Hork-Bajir hands. I felt the blunt curves of his wrist blades pressing into the soft flesh of my armpits, but they did not break the skin.

"It is everyone's Empire, Terliss," he hissed. I glared at his cavalier use of my given name, but didn't reprimand him for it.

(I'm tired, Nagrit. I'm finally tired. I'm retiring for the night. If I'm not up...) I marveled at the possibility the words offered. A full-night's sleep. (Come retrieve me at 1000 hours,) I said.

"What should I tell the Council?"

I turned a fuzzy stalk eye behind me and felt a little guilty for the amount of responsibility I was unloading on my assistant's shoulders. But he was a Sub-Visser and my most trusted advisor. He could handle it.

(Tell them their Empress will hear all of their concerns tomorrow.) I smiled to myself.

This was much better.

Why hadn't I done this in the first place? Why had I trusted that democracy, or at least our limited oligarchy, was the most efficient form of government? They'd bungled Jennor's capture, and used what little influence and power they had at every turn, rarely for the sake of the Empire. They all desired the power I had, they all doubted my ability because their arrogance and myopia convinced them that they alone could shoulder the weight. We did not work together. There was constant friction. There was no lubricant in our discussion, only rough sand between the pistons. It was an engine that could not run.

But I could. Maybe not as fast as a well-oiled machine, but I could run.

Of course, I'd read history after history and dozens of biographies that outlined the dangers of becoming a true, overt Empress. "Power rises to the head like helium," they'd say. "The ideas of one, no matter how noble, cannot apply to the needs of a multitude." I knew all the warnings, all the problems. That's why I'd avoided such a dictatorial form of rule until now. I still needed the Council and my advisors. I'd be a fool to refuse them. I didn't want to do it alone. I wasn't smart enough or good enough, I needed the diversity of their opinions.

But I also needed to be able to draw the line. To make the lonely, responsibility-saturated command. That is the one, pure power that comes with being in charge. I hoped I would never have to do it. I hoped I would never have to push them back and pull rank on them, but I needed them to know that I could. Now that my rank was a matter of public record, I was no longer accountable only as Councilor 8.

Finally, I _was_ the Empress.

I wondered if my impulsive decision had insulted them too greatly. I was pretty sure I could get them to forgive it, mainly because their positions on the Council were no longer guaranteed. And, suddenly, I realized that was my new job.

A perfectly political trapeze act. Balancing threat and thanks, truth and innuendo, praise and retribution. I would have to make them fit into my new plan. They would not do so willingly. I needed them both proud to be working for me and paranoid that I'd turn against them.

This was work. This was a job worth doing right.

I got to my quarters and dimmed the lights. I closed my hooves, and as I did, I felt my body succumb even more deeply to its own desire for respite. That obligatory period of half-dreams, hypnogogia comprised of ridiculous imagery and illogical thoughts that feel so right and true in their own way, lasted mere seconds. Within five minutes, I was revisiting the fearful and fantastical world of my own subconscious—a place I hadn't seen for any real length of time in months.

I slept for six solid hours.

Though I'd hoped to reclaim some of the time I'd lost, the reminder of my act and the apprehension from having to deal with its consequences invaded my dreams and forced me back to consciousness.

Nagrit was standing outside my room, waiting for me to wake up. His form was slumped and his eyes were soft and ringed. It was clear he hadn't even attempted to sleep.

(Good morning,) I said to him.

"Sir," he said, his discontentment evident in his speech. As someone who normally displayed perfect loyalty, I could only assume this was deliberate.

(When is the meeting with the Council?) I asked. Nagrit sighed.

"Eleven-hundred," he responded, standing straight and cocking the stiffness out of his neck.

(You only gave me an hour to prepare?)

"It's only 0400, sir."

(Yes, but I expected to sleep until 10 o'clock. Why did you do that?)

"It was the time which was agreed upon. You were not here to deliver an imperial mandate, so we had to work together and compromise."

I sighed. I had wanted to deal with the Council before Nagrit, but he seemed intent on foiling my plans.

(Get it off your chest,) I ordered.

"You were supposed to be different," he said, not bothering to confirm that this was off-the-record. "For years, I believed you would rule the Empire with fairness and efficiency. You're not stupid, so I assumed you realized that meant you'd be cooperating with other people."

(That's still the plan,) I said.

"Then why expose yourself?"

(The only way a body can be governed is if the head is in charge, Nagrit. This covert-Emperor system may have worked until now, but this war requires a focal point. There needs to be a head to rally around when things go right, and to blame when things go wrong. The only real reason I was shrouded in secrecy was because of the fear of exposure, assassination, and death. And that is a fear I can no longer indulge.)

A pained look came to his expression. He bowed his head in resignation.

"It is a fear I share," he admitted.

(You have no need to worry, Nagrit. It's on no record that you're my personal assistant.)

"That's not what I meant, Terliss," he whispered, looking up at me again, orange eyes glowing strangely.

(It'd be like having sex with an open pair of scissors,) Terenia mumbled suddenly. I followed her train of thought to decipher what she meant.

(Oh, please,) I responded.

(I don't know, he's been laying it on pretty thick these past couple of days. Playing his cards right, in my opinion,) Terenia said with a little more gusto. (Like a lady in court trying to catch the eye of the crown prince, and now the crown prince is king.)

I ignored her and reviewed with Nagrit what each Council member had said.

Their concerns were fair and unoriginal. Seasoned politicians, they avoided revealing their true points of contention and instead focused on issues of "trust" and "faith" that I had apparently destroyed in all of them. No one could believe me anymore, no one could trust that I listened to anything they said or cared about their opinions at all. So much of my work on the Council felt like babysitting four-year-olds.

It was easy, then, to address them all.

(We agreed,) I said to them all at first. (We agreed, and I nearly let it die there.)

Their projections glowed with rage, and after a second of perfect stillness, they erupted in anger.

I let them go for a few minutes. Their anger would not subside entirely, but these discussions would be much easier if pent-up frustration didn't force constant interruptions. Hork-Bajir growls and barks mixed with Taxxon hissing and shrieking and human shouting. I even heard the Gedd rumbling in discontentment.

Before too long, enough of the arguing died down to leave two distinct voices still rambling—Sessil, the human, and a ruthless Hork-Bajir named Seert 115. I looked back at Nagrit with a stalk eye and he nodded. These were the two whose complaints to him had been filled with lightly veiled innuendo that I should tender my resignation.

"—a travesty of the highest degree, an absolute effrontery to the carefully designed rules of government—"

"—like a mutiny, or an internal revolution, or a coup—"

(Tell me, Councilor, how a captain can mutiny her own ship,) I finally said in a slow, soft voice that betrayed no hint of apprehension or impatience.

That shut both of them up immediately. The floor was mine again, and I did not pause any amount of time relinquish it.

(Your concerns are completely valid,) I assured the Council, (and I intend to hear every single last one of them from each and every one of you personally. I also intend to explain my actions fully, if that is something any of you are interested in.)

They murmured softly, looking at each other in silent communications that I could only assume were continuations of previous conversations. I noted which eyes gazed at which, which alliances could become trouble down the line. Nagrit nodded again, noting the same thing.

"Yes," Sessil finally trilled. "Explain yourself."

(As we said yesterday, it would have been foolish to believe that the Empire would not assume, or at least consider, that a single Councilor addressing them would not be the Empress herself. Would a real Yeerk Empress have allowed an Andalite host to go unclaimed for themselves?)

"You did," A Taxxon accused.

I smiled. (Yes, I did. I allowed Esplin his victory because this council voted it so.)

The Council shifted uncomfortably.

(At every true test of disagreement we have faced, I have allowed majority rule. No matter how much I disagree, I value and respect each and every last one of you. Most of the time, it has worked in our favor. I admit there were times I was wrong, and an imperial mandate would have been the wrong course of action. Other times, the failures and inefficiencies caused by this voting body have been minor enough to ignore. But the last failure we endured could not be. I cannot let Jennor's escape go unnoted. She was too important, and, due to my admiration of your opinions, we failed.)

Now I allowed a pause. Glee filled me when no one said anything. My point was coming across quite nicely.

(Efficiency is, and always has been, the number one priority. I care about your opinions because most of the time, they improve efficiency. That is no longer the case. This failure requires a redesign. There needs to be accountability for this failure. I accept that accountability.)

"You really expect us to believe that you revealed yourself just to be held accountable?" Seert scoffed through a greatly scarred Hork-Bajir beak.

(No, I don't expect you to believe that. Nor was I finished,) I snapped.(I accept responsibility for both failure and success. If something goes terribly wrong, I will be blamed solely. If something goes right, I will accept the initial praise, but I would like all of us to share in that glory.

(I expect to rule this Council the same way as usual,) I continued. (We will still vote, and, most of the time, decisions will be made democratically. But if I feel there is a course of action that needs to be taken, I will take it, no matter how many of you vote against me. I will not allow Jennor to escape again.)

"Shall we limit your absolute rule to that mission then?" Sessil asked, displaying a surprising amount of rationality. "Perhaps it was wrong of us to take it from you. We've never interfered in those personal missions before."

I considered this for a moment. (That is an agreement I am willing to make for the time being,) I said. (But the point is, I am the Empress, among this Council, and now among the entire Empire. Though I will continue to allow this Council's full cooperation, I am now a figurehead among the people that we rule. I accept this danger and accountability on all your behalf. I was not only thinking of myself when I made that decision.)

I didn't know if they bought it. I certainly didn't buy it. But none of them rebuked.

(Though it may be unwise to be so open about these things, I realize how much of an incentive this gives all of you to mutiny now,) I said, glancing at Seert, who narrowed his eyes. (I'd certainly be tempted if I were you. Our power is no longer perceived as equal among the people that we rule. Let me assure you, however, that if I catch so much as a whiff of some kind of coup or assassination plot, I will wipe out this entire Council and shift everyone in the Empire up twelve spaces, do I make myself clear?)

I saw a wry smile come to the human's lips.

"Glad you showed up to play," he said.

I smiled back. (Let us hope it never comes to that particular game.

(That unpleasantness is settled, then. I hope we can discuss our next course of action,) I said. (First order of business—is there any indication that the Andalites intercepted the address?)

"My teams have been observing their behavior all night," Krister 632, head of communications, said. "Despite moving a small fleet of fighters to the winter side of Sector 253 YS-29531-2, they've done nothing out of the ordinary."

(Keep an eye on them. They're certainly shrewd enough to hide the fact that they know.)

"Is this fear or efficiency talking?" Seert taunted.

(I'm sure you're clever enough to see that the interception of that message does not only put me in danger,) I responded. (You do remember the content. They wouldn't like us gloating about breaking their defenses.)

"I doubt they like any aspect of our having broken their defenses," Guttill 221 muttered.

(No, but the antidote to hidden shame, especially for Andalites, is private meditation. If they saw us treating that victory so openly, they'd make their retribution just as public.)

Guttill shrugged in an uninterested way. "Then we've accomplished two unprecedented feats in less than two years," he said. "A successful mission to the Andalite homeworld, and a public Empress."

(That mission was not a success,) I reminded him.

(Oh, really, I don't count for anything?) Terenia scoffed. I ignored her.

"A fact you shouldn't have discussed," Vrasst 261, a Taxxon controller, hissed. "To be quite honest, the only problem I had with that speech was the amount of attention you drew to the fact that you considered that mission a failure at all."

"I agree, it was unwise to introduce yourself to the public as someone already imperfect," Lottess 331, another Hork-Bajir consented.

"It will take an even more outstanding feat to solidify their trust," Sessil mused.

(You had something in mind?) I asked.

"No, but I think you did," he said with a smile. I noted the change in tense as he pulled a glowing, scrolling information pad from behind his back.

I narrowed my eyes and scoffed. (What have you been holding this entire time, waiting for the conversation to take this turn?)

"A plan you submitted to the Council when you were just a Sub-Visser. A plan that never came to fruition, but certainly turned our attention to you."

The tingle of oncoming paleness crawled up my cheeks, sent spikes down my shoulders. I remembered that plan. That overconfident, flamboyant, unrealistic, perfectly attuned plan. That plan was one of my only hidden shames. At one terrible point in my career, I had been young and ambitious and stupid.

I saw Nagrit smile, and for a moment, I was sure it was because he was glad I was about to be publicly shamed.

"Let's wrangle ourselves a Dome Ship," Sessil concluded.

The reaction among the Councilors was not as universal this time, nor was I sure how to respond. Some laughed in dismay, others cheered in assent. Sessil just stared at me, waiting for me to react. Challenging me.

I waited for them to calm down, deciding to turn the suspicion on Sessil until I could decide what to do. (You ignore it for years, and you believe there is merit in this plan now?) I asked.

"I always did, but some of my colleagues did not agree," he answered immediately, sensing my approach to his challenge.

(Did they change their minds?) I asked, eyeing the five or so Council members who had rejected the plan outright.

They all shouted in agreement—no, they had not changed their minds, and they did not appreciate being blindsided like this.

I let them continue to argue amongst themselves while I ran through everything in my head. I had worked hard on that plan, hard enough that even now I was certain there was a more than likely chance it could succeed. I had run it through hundreds of different simulators and diagnostics, and at the point I had turned it in to the Council, it had a 96% success rate. It depended on a number of factors that were unlikely in reality, of course—a rogue Dome Ship with a berth at least 80 lightyears from any other Andalite vessel, a young captain less than 20 years into the service, among other things. But if they would put the energy into the search, perhaps it was possible.

I shook my head slightly, beyond the notice of any of them. There was no way. 4% was still too risky. I wouldn't be known as the Empress who attempted the impossible and failed.

I looked back at Nagrit. More than any of them, his opinion mattered to me.

He was still smiling that grin that had filled me with so much suspicion, but now, I saw something completely different. I saw pride. I'd never mentioned the plan to him before. I'd completed it before he had become my assistant, but it was clear, that at some point, he'd read it. It was clear now, that he'd read it and believed in it.

He believed in me. Truly, completely, overwhelming and pure. He really did.


	17. Chapter Twelve: Part Two

PART TWO OF TWO

I couldn't help but smile back at him, and I felt some invisible, intractable barrier around my heart melt away. Nagrit had always been something of a shameful comfort, a selfish need. He'd made me awkward in those early weeks, but not only because of his strange sense of morality. I liked being around him, because of more than trust and professional compatibility. I wanted him to be impressed with me. I wanted his approval. I felt foolish and self-conscious around him: I berated myself for saying things I considered stupid, I cared how my Hork-Bajir form appeared to his. I looked forward to those rare moments between orders and political theorizing where he and I would share some joke or moment of unstructured conversation. When he would lean forward and wipe sap from my elbow blade or put a hand on my shoulder to usher me through a door. I looked forward to intimate contact.

And now, I understood. The depth and judgment of his orange gaze, a mild distraction before, was suddenly something I depended upon entirely. He cared about me deeply, he did approve of me, he liked being around me, too. How had I thought myself so totally alone before? How had I failed to notice what was now so clear and obvious?

I straightened my face, regained composure. I shelved the warm epiphany and tried to ignore its pervading comfort. I couldn't do anything about it now. There was a meeting to finish.

(If the Council so decides,) I said, raising my voice high enough to interrupt the incessant bickering, (I will support this plan.)

The Council erupted, but I stopped listening. My opinion was given.

Sessil seemed surprised. He'd expected overcaution, cowardice. That was probably the more rational response, but I decided to dig up what little self-confidence I had and try real leadership. No one would believe in it if I didn't. And now I did. Despite the 96% success rate, I was 100% sure it would work.

The atmosphere seemed to shift once I laid down my sentence. Like all matters among the Council, more than a real attempt to shift the war in our favor, this was simply an exercise in political manipulation and deceit. It would be much cleaner for me to attempt something impossible, fail, be executed for crimes against the Empire, and die within perfectly legal limits than for the Council to actually perform a successful coup. It seemed the five who had initially rejected my plan were actually on my side, unwilling to see me fail. The rest...well, I'd have to keep an eye on the rest.

The fact that they were all so certain that the plan would fail just made me giddier. I had never experienced such a rush of self-confidence, such a complete disruption of doubt. It made me a little nervous, which I took as a good sign. I couldn't afford to lose all sense of accountability, but I liked the feeling of absolute certainty on this one issue.

Within ten minutes we decided to implement my plan. Unfortunately, it called for many additional stages and necessary situations, many of which depended on the slow, cyclical movement of the universe.

We couldn't move ahead for years.

In the meantime, there was something terrifying I had to confront.

When the meeting was finished, and all of the projectors flickered and died, leaving strange, low, red underlighting in the conference room, Nagrit turned to leave.

(Nagrit, wait, please,) I said, holding up my hand towards him.

(You're just falling into his trap, you know,) Terenia said. (Crown prince. Lady in court. Watch it happen.) I scowled at the fact that I could never have the privacy I longed for.

"Yes, sir," Nagrit responded, turning around.

I went to the camera and made sure it wasn't recording anymore. This was not a confrontation I could afford to have caught on tape.

I walked over to him and gazed into his glowing orange eyes, and realized how absolutely foolish I was being. On so many levels, it was entirely reprehensible, but at least it made sense when I had a Hork-Bajir host. I had felt something physical and undeniable then. Raw, primal, evolutionary attraction that could be written off as easily as Taxxon hunger. Yeerks mating with their hosts was no longer uncommon—though at one point it had been taboo, I had put forth a successful argument in the Council that any process that could potentially produce hosts should be deemed acceptable. This, however, was different, deniable. I marveled that I had spent so much effort denying the undeniable and, now that I had accepted it, there was no promise of physical catharsis. Nagrit and I were no longer a matched pair. There could be no physical affection.

Nagrit continued to watch me, seemingly unaware of the conflict that had suddenly sprung into my head. I felt no pressure to make a fast decision. He would wait for as long as I needed.

(I love you, Nagrit,) I blurted before a fresh wave of logic could stop it. But then it came, regret and self-loathing with it, and I averted my gaze, avoiding his eyes. Shame burned in my shoulders and shins. Terenia (tsk, tsk, tsk)ed away.

He didn't respond, and I felt the shame burn deeper. But suddenly, his strong, rough arms swallowed me in an uncomfortable embrace and I collapsed into his chest.

He only held me for a moment before I felt a splash of pain. (Son of a…) I trailed, a response purely influenced by Terenia's past. I pulled away and his wrist blade, already covered in my blood, sliced through the skin on my ribs as easily as if it were a tomato.

"I'll go retrieve a dermal regenerator," he said, slashing himself in the arm. A common enough excuse for a Hork-Bajir. They were not as graceful as they seemed.

(If you're not hurt, I think we should discuss this now,) I countered. I could not order him to stay. This had nothing to do with the Empire.

"I love you, too," he responded. "What more is there to discuss?"

An unstoppable smile emerged in my eyes, and now I called the logic back to quell it. (This cannot be made public,) I said.

"Clearly," Nagrit responded.

(I can't see this as anything other than a mistake in the making. I sacrificed any personal comfort for this rank a long time ago. This can only end badly,) I reasoned.

"Are there no mistakes worth making?" Nagrit asked, leaning into me to wipe the blood from my cut.

(I do not think physical expression of...that nature,) I stuttered, finding some strange comfort in the pressure of his hand against my wound, but Nagrit merely smiled.

"No, I think we'll have to wait for that," he agreed.

(Wait?) I asked.

"The point of capturing an Andalite Dome Ship is for hosts, correct?"

(Well, hosts, intelligence, technology...) I started.

He shifted his arm, Andalite and Hork-Bajir blood mixing, and cradled one of my forearms in his oversized hand. He gently ran his claws over the flesh, and goosebumps made the fur erect. "If there are enough Andalite hosts, perhaps I can be the recipient of one."

(Perhaps,) I breathed.

(Crown prince,) Terenia whispered.

I opened my eyes and suddenly realized the horrible, possible truth in Terenia's assessment. Had Nagrit been manipulating me from the beginning? Had that smile in the conference room been one of personal victory and not shared? Had he himself suggested the resurrection of my plan to Sessil for the sole purpose of advancing his status?

(Nagrit,) I said, keeping my voice low and unsuspicious, (If it were possible that I could give up Terenia and take a Hork-Bajir host, would you want me that way?)

"That would be a foolish course of action," he said with a laugh, realizing the irony in his own statement, continuing to stroke my arm which was like an infant's in his hand.

(Of course it's not feasible, but...if, some way, it were?)

He grabbed my opposite arm and pulled me close. My arms settled around his massive waist, and I clutched his flesh, pressing my cheek against his cold, reptilian chest. He smelled like rural rainfalls, like mountains and campfires. I closed my eyes and could have drifted off against that smooth, firm, leathery pillow. He bent his long, snake-like neck down so his mouth was directly next to my ear.

"I want you any way that's possible, Terliss. Hork-Bajir, human, Andalite, Taxxon, even. If there was a way for us to enjoy each other's presence without hosts, I would take it. It is unfortunate that nature has given us the capacity for love, but not the physical means to express it."

It was the perfect thing to say. I closed my eyes again, realizing I didn't really care. If he was this good at faking it, let him continue. He passed his dangerous hands over my face, down my neck, across my shoulders. He pressed the blunt end of his beak against my forehead and breathed hot, sweet breath, nuzzling my scalp like a cat, working to caress me with his head blades as his instinct drove him. There was no desire for it, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was tender. He was protecting me, like a Hork-Bajir male would do for his mate. Even though I was no longer a Hork-Bajir, I could feel that wonderful trust and companionship, a deep-seeded, ancient contentment and security, and I moved my own hands up against his face, responding to the same urges though the result was alien to him.

This was the only physical manifestation of love we would get for a long time, and for now, it was enough. His chin settled between my stalk eyes, hands resting carefully on my hips, and we stood for minutes until a page calling me to the Bridge broke through the speakers.

I pulled away from him and wiped the dew from my forehead. (I'll be right there,) I responded. The speaker clicked off.

"Not much will change, then?" Nagrit asked.

(Not for a while,) I agreed.

"I suppose that's all right. The truth is a heavy burden to relinquish."

(I feel lighter already,) I said with a breathy laugh.

"Let me get that regenerator before you go to the Bridge. You're a mess," he said.

(We both are,) I said, rubbing the clotted wound, after he left.

For almost fifteen years, Nagrit and I were forced to uphold discreet professionalism during the days, only to meet in dark corners and abandoned closets after hours without a shred of comfort or security. It was a difficult existence. His Hork-Bajir sex drive was much more acute than mine, and though I encouraged him to seek release with a member of his own race, he continually refused in some misguided sense of chivalry and chastity. His sex drive was like a sledge hammer constantly bombarding him (I remembered vaguely how difficult it had been at times), and my Andalite sense was like needles, constantly drilling the front of my body and the base of my back. Terenia was greatly annoyed that I made her feel that way, but she didn't complain much, as she half-expected Nagrit and I to seek a physical relationship despite our differences.

The nervous snake in my stomach seemed to be entirely focused on the anticipation of the Dome Ship attack, and the frustrating unfulfillment that went along with it. It no longer disciplined or chided me, it fueled, comforted, and nurtured me. I was sleeping regularly now. Nagrit noted that my color had returned, and I appeared younger. I was eating better and felt stronger. I thought this was because planning focused my energies, gave me purpose, reduced my stress, and improved my health. The snake was allowing me comfort, for whatever reason it deemed worthy.

As far as the matter with Jennor, I was disappointed that we had heard no news about her, but I didn't let it worry me. The time of capturing her as a harmless, inert infant had passed, and though I was sure she grew more dangerous with each day, I kept reminding myself that she was one person and no god. No single person could stand against the might of an entire species. Myth had not even delivered such an unlikely circumstance.

I felt things were going in the right direction. As part of the plan, we attacked periodic Andalite outposts at the edges of the galaxy to draw their forces away from center. Thin them out. Rarely did any Dome Ship pass outside of 60 lightyears of another ship, but the galaxy was growing daily.

There was a sector of the galaxy that few Andalite fighters ventured into. A familiar sector to Terenia, as it was the home of Earth. I had a feeling, even at the beginning of the plan, that this is where we would find our Dome Ship.

When I first heard of Elfangor's cohort disappearing deep into the folds of that sector, I immediately contacted the small armada of ships that comprised my task force. We were hovering near the edges, cloaked and invisible, and if it weren't for the random element of the Andalite fighters accompanying it, it would have been a perfect scenario.

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that Visser Three, the moron who would share my council if mutiny ever struck, had shot it down.

Of course, I had to feign excitement, as it was so rare we decimated a direct threat to one of our most promising colonies, but I couldn't help but envy that Visser Three was relishing in the praise that should have been mine. I doubted for a second whether my governing strategy was efficient, if I should have given whole planets to the Vissers, but I got a strange feeling that another chance would emerge.

Suddenly, and without much explanation, a chance did. Almost three years after that.

"Sir," Nagrit said much too loudly, right as the last few minutes of our shift were winding down. "Check your long range scanners."

I sighed, fidgeting away a rush of prickly desire that crawled down my spine, and brought up the scanning grid.

A single Dome Ship—old, chipped, with a scuffed, weathered dome, almost hand-me-down—was making a direct bee-line for Earth.

(I'm afraid our rendezvous on deck four will have to be postponed tonight, Nagrit,) I said to him privately. (Alert the task force.)

The task force was ready, almost prescient that it was needed. We folded in like an envelope behind it. Nothing but Visser Three's Yeerks ahead and mine behind.

About fifty trillion miles from Earth, just as the third shift was ending on the Andalite vessel, we struck.

I boarded a heavily cloaked Bug Fighter with two expert Taxxon pilots. Carefully, silently, we flew right up against the Dome Ship, clipping along steadily through normal space. Fear washed through my hearts and gripped my bowels. What if they decided to ignore protocol and jump to Zero-Space with us in their wake? What if they performed a full short-range scan and caught whiff of us? It was suicide, what we were doing. It was like stepping right in front of a cannon to perform sabotage, while the fuse-lighter just happened to be momentarily blinded by sunrise.

But the first step in our mission was a success. We crippled the Bridge-based communications with our Bug Fighter. Amazing how simple it was—the Dome Ship model was old enough that we had acquired precise schematics that told us exactly what wire to cut. Not to mention their scanners were years out of date. Once we did, I could only hope that the skeleton night crew would not uncover our attack, but even if they did, they had no way of contacting the other part of the ship, no way of calling for help at all, despite shouting at the top of their thought-speech lungs. We jammed the doors, trapping the crew inside to die with the information that could save their ship. I wondered if their shouting would be enough to destroy the whole plan.

The crew would obviously commit suicide in favor of becoming hosts. An unfortunate sacrifice. It was a shame we had surrender that tactical information.

(All right,) I told the Taxxons, who were hissing and writhing with excitement. (Take us home.)

After the Bug Fighter, the gas ship was next.

We could never board a live Andalite ship and expect to find survivors. All Andalites harbored that ridiculous opinion that death is better than infestation. Visser Three had become a symbol of hell to them. I toyed with the idea of sending one Andalite host back to Andal as a form of public relations—if I could just convince a few that infestation wasn't so bad, then maybe that was all the weakness we needed to cripple them entirely.

The gas ship, a hatchback-sized transport that contained a toy chest-sized vessel of concentrated poison, connected to the ventilation system and hosed in noxious nanites that would take a few hours to circulate. We programmed them to release their toxin once they were perfectly diffused, so that the poison would affect all Andalites simultaneously. The grand vessel kept flying through space, clearly on autopilot, unaware that we were attached and watching. Blind to the leech that was about to suck them dry. Perhaps this was better than Elfangor's ship. Perhaps this was surer.

The nanites were programmed to alert us when they were fully diffused in the hermetic atmosphere. By this time, my task force had been organized into their transports. I was in the lead transport, flanked by two hand-picked blue-band warriors and three Taxxon intelligence officers. I cradled Nagrit in a small portable vessel. Normally, it was his job to take care of me. Now I was directly responsible for him.

I imagined how terrifying it must be to be aboard the Dome Ship right now. Andalites dropping unconscious left and right. Would the last few to fall be quick enough to act in some way that would foil our plan? The poison we inserted was the most precise we could design, promising to incapacitate everyone on the ship within a three-minute window, but I did well to overestimate the Andalites. I hoped it would be enough.

If it wasn't, however, there was a flawless contingency plan. We would destroy them.

An hour after the poison was supposed to have worked its magic, I docked to the ship. Taxxons and Hork-Bajir, wearing plastic gas masks, carrying vessels containing the select Yeerks that would receive Andalite hosts, prepared to disembark. I stood, facing the inner hatch, wondering if this would be what I would be remembered for.

I stroked the side of Nagrit's vessel pointlessly, tempering a flare of fear and insecurity. His fate was directly under my control.

I would get to pick his host.

My blue band officers flanked me with massive Dracon Beams, and I prepared to give the order to open the hatch. I breathed in my last breath of fresh air, replaced my breathing harness, and said, (Let's make history, boys.)

The hatch slid open, and the greatest battle in the history of the war began.


	18. Chapter Thirteen: Jennor

Chapter Thirteen

Jennor

PART ONE OF TWO

The shuttle rattled beyond what my tolerance could allow. Alarms beeped, and the ramonite viewscreen was a wall of atmospheric entry fire. I let out a whine of fear and Trainer shot me a glare.

We were going to crash. I was sure of it.

The pilot seemed unconcerned, hands drifting lazily over compensators and gauges, stalk eyes wafting dreamily over his head. I wasn't sure whether this comforted or terrified me even more. Judging from the strange, disconnected, colorful thoughts passing through his mind, I wasn't even sure he was awake.

I was in my normal form, which is why his mind appeared so open. Though the shuttle flight itself would take less than 15 minutes, the preparations for take-off and endless queue for flight clearance put me too close to the two-hour limit. Trainer solved the problem by offering the pilot a small capsule of some sparkling, purple dust. He accepted it without question, saying, (I'd fly the Abomination himself for that much malsomnic.)

I was beginning to understand the way Trainer operated. He was like the center node in some complicated electrical diagram, delivering and redirecting charges to make the machine run more smoothly. People were not people to him, they were tools, instruments in his complicated orchestra—he plucked the strings the right way, blew just enough hot air into the right holes to achieve the desired effect. Everyone could be bought; no one was immune to the powers of his charisma and charm. He made friends fast, and finished with them before the thought to say "no" even occurred to them.

I watched him carefully aboard the ship. His left stalk eye wandered, bored, but his main eyes drilled into mine. For some reason, I had considered myself immune to his interminable gift, but the more I stared into his eyes, the more I realized I was perhaps his most prized instrument. But when had he bought me? What had I gotten in return for my service?

_That's just it,_ I thought to myself. _Your service is your reward._

The revelation surprised me, but I wasn't too angry about it. I trusted his confidence in my gifts, and though I wanted to stand out from everyone else he interacted with, what could I do? His talent was too astute. But the knowledge was not valueless. It was a good thing I understood.

(Are you all right, Jennor?) Trainer asked. I'd been rubbing my jaw, deep in thought.

(Yes, sir,) I responded.

He smiled, narrowing his eyes as if trying to probe me right back. (There are times I envy you,) he said with a nearly soundless scoff. I shrugged.

We made it to the planet safely, but over a mile from our destined landing point. The pilot's eyes were heavy and bloodshot, which made them look like they were freezing from the inside. His tail rocked from side to side and his hands were shaking. Trainer put his hand on my shoulder and guided me away.

The planet was a terrible place. The ground was thick and deeply, completely gray, consisting of some material that was not quite water and not quite earth, skimmed on the top by a thin, dusty, polluted puddle. Fog covered the planet in nearly tangible blankets, obscuring the outline of Trainer's face standing four feet in front of me. I winced, feeling simultaneously claustrophobic and utterly exposed. Our ship hovered just off the ground, making thick strands of fog swirl and fold. After helping Trainer strap a large pack onto his back, I gazed at the ground from the end of the docking platform, standing at the tip, like it was a diving board. Trainer came up behind me.

(Jump in, Jennor,) he said. (Stop wasting time.)

I stepped onto the ground and my entire lower body sank.

(Ah!) I cried. (Cold! It's…cold,) I said, adjusting slowly, strutting my legs to provoke warmth, wrapping my arms hard around myself. Trainer followed, sloshing and slurping into the swamp, and winced. (Very astute, Jennor,) he seethed. But then he breathed deeply, composed himself, and thanked the pilot behind us.

(Hooves closed?) Trainer asked, grunting from the weight of his pack which contained some essentials—field rations which we would indulge in sparingly, transmitters which could pull from a reservoir of fresh water in Zero Space. Our mission was to last for 72 hours until we could go back to base. I had my holster slung over my shoulder and fingered my Shredder tenderly.

I nodded.

(That won't work, Jennor, we're going to have to maintain verbal communication. Let's use Form Alpha,) he said, changing his conversational demeanor jarringly.

(Yes, sir,) I attempted feebly. I was no good at conversing that way. Feeling, image, and music came so easily to my speech. He'd attempted to squeeze it out of me in training, to no avail. I wasn't much of a linguist.

Trainer and I stood for a few moments, trying to figure out how to move. Walking didn't work, and neither did swimming, so we had to invent some new motility by combining the two. The ground was a cold, terrible viscosity somewhere between the consistency of glue and clay. If the atmosphere had been clear, we could have seen miles in all directions—there were no trees, hills, or other geographical obstacles to hinder sight. It was a flat wasteland. But as it was, we were swallowed by cold, lifeless muck, smothered by miles of weightless gray blankets.

Trainer finally bucked forward a few times, giving himself some momentum, and figured out how to keep it going.

(I have a navigator. We'll have to walk for a while until we reach our rendezvous point,) Trainer said. He continued sloshing in the muck, wading through it like water, and its disruption made a sick, slurping sound which made me sneer. He sighed. (At least there's air.)

(You're saying it could be worse?)

(It can always get worse, Jennor,) he said. (Now come on.)

We made our way slowly across the landscape, sloshing and slurping as we went. It was an unnatural movement that used muscles I hadn't been aware of—we sort of had to shimmy and thrust, back and forth, using our tails as rudders. Hundreds of hours in the mudpit back at camp kept me as dry and graceful as I could be, which was not very dry or very graceful. I could move, but this mud was so different. The mud of home festered and breathed life. This mud was dark, cold, and dead, like tons of ash infecting oceans of water. It was even more nauseating.

Trainer walked about twenty feet beside me, a dark gray silhouette against a darker gray backdrop. He appeared like some ancient, invisible caravel, his upper body like the mythic figurehead, his tail like an unsailed mast. Like some vessel delivering the dead to the afterlife. We moved slowly, wordlessly trudging and swimming through the desolate, humid atmosphere.

After about ten minutes, we came to a dark figure in the mist. Trainer raised his hand and I surged low beneath the swamp as quietly as I could, curling my tail tight up against my body, keeping only my head and hands emerged, aiming my Shredder just above the surface. For minutes we stood there, sure he was aware of us, in stalemate, waiting for someone to make a move, until Trainer finally headed forward cautiously. He walked right up to the figure, and I followed behind, finger brushing gently against the trigger.

(It's a tree,) he called back to me. (It's petrified.)

I grew from the swamp, walked up towards him, shaking free tendrils of mud, and pressed my hand against the bark. It was cold and smooth and felt like glass.

(What happened to this place?) I whispered.

(I'm not fully aware,) Trainer admitted.

I rested my hand against the tree and felt my stomachs roll uncomfortably. Already I was feeling my constant hunger and raving metabolism. Trainer gave me a small glance of pity, but didn't say anything or offer field rations.

We continued into the gray, silent wilderness, our sloshing movement the only perceptible noise. Finally, we reached the rendezvous point, and our task was immediately clear.

The fog was glowing green here.

He held out his arm and stopped my advancement. (Look at the ground,) he said. I looked down, and, nestled just under the water were infinite lines of slowly flashing green orbs. Each lay in a grid, a meter between them. They stretched all the way to the horizon, cones of hazy light supported by the fog, creating perspective lines that kissed into infinity. I held my breath, thinking irrationally that any sudden movement would set them off.

Silly of me. These mines were inactive. I could dance within them and nothing would happen. I'd only have to worry if they turned red.

(One by one?) I asked. Trainer laughed.

(No, it's automated.) He opened his pack and removed a small mine depositor. Eight little insect legs supported a fat cylinder with a domed antenna on top. Pulling mines from Zero-Space, it would claim a violent grid on the planet's surface. He powered it up, and set it on the ground. It immediately began scanning the environment. Sensing where the line of endless mines terminated, it began its work, shimmying quickly on snow shoe-like skis across the intractable mud, depositing a new mine every meter.

I felt a sudden rush of impatience. Why were we even needed if the drone deposited the mines itself? Certainly it was connected to some Z-Space store, and it seemed to run on some inexhaustible power source. We were standing here pointlessly, watching it. This mission involved no work or fighting at all.

(This mission is seventy-two hours, correct?) I asked. Trainer sighed.

(Sixty-five now,) he said. Noting my dissatisfaction with our irrelevance, he continued, (The Yeerks will come in and destroy the drone if we leave. We just need to guard it.)

I felt my stomachs rumble more violently this time. I was beginning to feel faint.

(Time to eat,) he said, pulling out a half-liter bag full of field rations. I bucked up like I was leaping, pulling myself up out of the mud. I drew a front leg up, settling it on the surface, and opened my hoof. The mud tasted as much like glue as it looked, but I ignored it, breaking through the thin plastic of the pack and happily ingesting its contents. I sighed in relief, and stretched my arms high above my head, relishing in the small comfort that Andalite grass offered. Trainer gazed at me, a strange glint in his eye.

Hours passed, and Trainer's fidgety discomfort grew as the planet rotated slowly, sinking into the dark of night. I knew somewhere up above those clouds, a motionless battle was waging, so deadlocked that the tiny stakes of land that the drone was claiming was the only movement. Were Yeerks on the other side of the planet, mining the barren landscape as well? Staking small, square meters of land as their own? Was this planet just a massive game board, pieces covering it slowly and meaninglessly? I wondered if this was what the war was like everywhere in the galaxy.

I felt warmth on the skin of my arms.

I looked up. Light was breaking through the clouds.

(What is that?) I asked, gazing up into the unexpected gift. I held my hand up to block out the glowing rays. Peeking between my fingers, I saw the beam completely pierce the clouds, making the blackness of space visible, and a few stars.

(You insolent slut, come on!) Trainer yelled, slipping back into Form Beta. I was more shocked by that than his volume, because volume cannot express terror and panic the way Beta can. I looked up and realized he was running away in as much of a gallop as he could muster through the thick muck. Confusion and shock halted my thoughts, and suddenly, the whole world turned red.

Heat and noise exploded around me. In an instant, I no longer felt the mud in my hooves and on my legs. I was flying through the air, burning and freezing and drowning and smothered, but alive.

I allowed myself a few moments of shock, trying to understand what had just occurred. Pain racked through me like electricity, sudden and malicious. I couldn't breathe; it froze my diaphragm and all of my muscles. Every single one of my perceptions—vision, time, self-orientation, temperature, sound, and even memory was wiped clean. For some terrible, immeasurable time, the pain kept striking, each new delivery more disastrous than the last. But, slowly, it faded. Darkness encapsulated me, but it was not uncomfortable. As the pain lapsed, pleasure replaced it. In fact, I felt wonderful. A soft, pleasant tingling sensation undulated through my right side. The air smelled sweet, like flowers. Muscles relaxed, my mind was at ease.

I felt hands on my left side. They seemed panicked. I waved them off.

(Please, Jennor, just keep breathing!) I think it was Trainer. I still couldn't see anything. I didn't really want to. I wanted to concentrate on this wonderful euphoria passing through me in waves, rolling through my muscles, whispering sweet comforts and soft caresses. I couldn't even imagine the pain that had just violated me. Now, there was only this beautiful feeling that seemed somehow pink and shimmery and iridescent. It increased in size, breadth, intensity. I could taste it in my hooves, crawling all the way up my legs. My left side was beginning to fall victim to it. Soon, it would be everywhere.

Time continued to pass, and the comfort kept bubbling up from some deep, unknown reservoir somewhere in my gut. I had no idea what was going on outside of me. Every once in a while, Trainer would say something, but it was garbled and indistinguishable. I could tell he was upset about something, but I wished he would just calm down. He was ruining it.

Finally, his voice went away, and three new voices filled my head. These were much clearer, more defined. Form Alpha. I tried not to concentrate on them, but they were too lucid.

(On the count of three—one, two—)

(Nurse, we'll need a lot more organic redermalizing foam—)

(I can cinch this off pretty easy, go work on her—)

(Critical damage to her left frontal lobe, it's a wonder she's even—)

(Get a tourniquet around that arm, we want the transfusions to stay—)

Before long the talking died down, and the pleasure was almost complete. Only the tips of my left fingers now were untouched, longing for the pink tendrils to reach down and wrap themselves around.

But then, it all went away.


	19. Chapter Thirteen: Part Two

PART TWO OF TWO

I gasped deeply and my ribs snatched at my lungs. Blood filled my nostrils and poured down my face. Where fingers, hooves and skin should have been were jagged, angry edges that ripped inside and out. The pain was unrealistic, and the only way to deal with it was to imagine what I looked like, what could have possibly happened to me to make me feel this way. I could barely remember the explosion, and everything that happened to me before that was a colorless blur. I whined to go back to four seconds ago; I wanted to feel that last bit of pleasure wrap around my fingers.

(There it is. Good work everyone. Cristex, you need to morph now if you want to survive. Demorph, _aristh_. Now.)

Morph? Demorph? What was going on?

Suddenly two hands grabbed my neck, forcing me into clarity despite the pain. (Did you hear me, _aristh_? I gave you an order—demorph!)

He was saying the wrong things, but I didn't concentrate on that, and I just did what he said. I focused on Cristex and morphed.

I kept my eyes closed until I was sure I was finished. For some reason, I didn't want to see what had just gone on outside of me.

But I could hear again. And smell. And taste. Everyone was panting. The stench of blood and sweat and the balmy excess of body heat was everywhere. My fur was clingy and matted down.

I opened my eyes. The three men with the clear voices were already cleaning up. Pools of blood had collected everywhere—on the ground, in piles of used gauze, on the surgical table I was still laying on. I raised a shaking hand to my forehead to wipe away the sweat, but when I pulled it back I saw that I wasn't sweating at all—blood had collected on the healed skin of my morphed body.

I looked around some more. We were in a medical bay somewhere—a Dome Ship? Home base on the green moon? How had we gotten here?

I gazed around more carefully and saw Trainer standing in the corner of the room. The skin on his face was pale and gray, making the blackness of his eyes even more prominent. I couldn't read him because I was in the wrong form, but everything I needed to know was evident in his large, terrified eyes.

(What happened to me?) I asked him. His stalk eyes quivered and bowed.

Trainer said nothing to me as we made our way back to quarters. I had taken a rag to the sloppy mixture of blood and mud spattered on my face and arms, but it reached everywhere, down my left side, all over my tail. Men we passed in the hall gave me strange, worried looks. I didn't know how to respond.

When we reached our quarters, the War-Prince that had debriefed Trainer was waiting alone, without the transcriptionist. Trainer looked up at him and sighed.

(Tuxebi,) the War-Prince said.

(War-Prince,) Trainer said, too exhausted to uphold the arrogant whimsy that usually characterized his speech.

(Why was your _aristh_ morphed into a little girl on the main planet?) the War-Prince asked, his voice soft and disappointed.

(With all due respect, sir, is this really where you believe your presence is required?) Trainer responded.

(My job is to protect the Andalite people,) the War-Prince explained. (I believe there is one that needs protecting right there.) He looked at me, and I averted my gaze. (Go ahead and demorph, _aristh_.)

I looked up at Trainer. I couldn't disobey a direct order from a War-Prince, but I certainly didn't want to be punished for it by him, either. He bowed his eyes in assent.

I demorphed slowly, returning to my feminine form. As I returned, Trainer's feelings became clearer. Nausea, frigid guilt, a volatile urge to flee. Nothing I really wanted to associate with right now.

(I don't really want or need to know why you brought a four-year-old girl into this war, Tuxebi. You brought us hope, so for that, I thank you, and for that, I'll let you go.)

Trainer looked up at the War-Prince now. Color was slowly returning to his face.

(Just take her home, all right?) The War-Prince turned and left.

Trainer looked at me with his left stalk eye, and for a moment, I pitied him. He had failed completely at whatever plan he'd set into motion. He'd nearly lost the thing most dear to him, though I wasn't entirely sure what that was. His pride? The future of his career? No, none of those things felt right. He'd lost something even dearer.

(What happened to me?) I repeated in a whisper.

(The mirror on the red moon was not constructed to change the weather on the green moon, as we hypothesized,) Trainer said. (They triggered every Andalite mine on that planet with it. The planet is theirs.)

(They're the ones who broke through the clouds,) I said, understanding washing upon me. (I saw the stars, I felt warmth on—)

(Just calm yourself, Jennor.) Trainer sighed.

(How did this happen?) I asked, getting more panicked as my understanding became more complete. (They weren't even hiding the mirror, shouldn't we have known?)

(Those mines only respond to a very rare sliver of photo-luminescence on the spectrum,) Trainer responded. (This sun doesn't produce it. The Yeerks must have manufactured it, used the mirror as a projector.)

(But how did they know?)

(Since acquiring an Andalite host, the Yeerks have gotten shrewder at the game of intelligence.) Trainer sighed, exasperated. (We need to get out of here, Jennor, gather your things.)

_My things._

I was almost too afraid to ask, but Trainer held out my holster and Shredder to me. (They got a few new marks, but they're all right,) he said.

(Oh, thank you,) I gasped, patting them tenderly. The holster was warped with water damage, stained deep purple with blood. I would clean it once we were on our ship.

Then I realized that we were going home.

I was a little disappointed, since my career in the war had been much shorter than I anticipated. At the same time, I was glad I would be seeing my Father again. Now I had my own war stories to share with him. And Terenia. I wanted to hug her, ask for shameful, infantile comfort. I missed her very much.

We boarded the ship shortly after. Trainer had me morph to Cristex again, despite the fact that our cover was blown. I ran my warm fingers over the new dents in my Shredder—my dents, my imperfections. The gun was becoming an amalgam of mistakes committed by my father and me.

(Once we emerge into an area where communication with Andal is possible, is it all right if I contact my father? I'd like to inform him that I'm coming home.) I said to Trainer as he brought the engines of the ship to life through the telepathic interface.

(We're not going home, Jennor,) Trainer responded.

(But the War-Prince ordered—)

(Did he say the words "I order you"?) Trainer asked.

(Well, no, but—)

(This is why Form Alpha communication is a necessary evil, _aristh_. It leaves no room for ambiguities.)

I felt my hearts go cold. (Where are we going?) I asked.

(Somewhere less dangerous,) Trainer growled.

I tenderly touched my forehead again. Three morphs later, there was still a thin, crusty shell of blood stuck to my skin. I scratched a little off and examined the cruddy residue it left under my fingernails. Trainer saw me, and a little of the paleness returned to his face.

(What happened to me?) I whispered for the third time.

(It is unnecessary for you to know. You're all right now. That's what counts, no?)

(I need to know,) I whispered. I wasn't totally sure why. Part of it felt like an obligation—I needed to know what had happened to me to inspire such a look of horror on Trainer's face. The other part was morbid curiosity. What possible injury or blessing could have made me feel so good? Nothing before in my life had inspired such a feeling of physical euphoria. Even remembering the moment that my father had bestowed the legacy of his Shredder onto me didn't feel so wonderful. What had happened to inspire such an irresistible rush?

(How much do you need to know?) Trainer responded, a glint of confidence returning to his left stalk eye.

(Everything,) I said.

(That's not what I meant. What are you willing to pay for that information?) Trainer said, setting the autopilot and turning around to face me.

(Pay?) I asked. Trainer did something strange then, something he hadn't upkept in our limited time alone together.

He shut himself off, like Father always used to, leaving me abandoned and discrete. It was a rare skill, something that only a few people I met seemed to be able to do. Terenia couldn't. Even when I asked her to try, her face would get solemn but I could hear her laughing inside her head. Father maintained the barrier at all times, but Trainer didn't, and seemed to enjoy the fact that I could read him. I wished Father would let me inside, like Trainer did. I wished he wasn't ashamed of me. He hated showing me what he was feeling. I never understood why. It gave me such comfort and reassurance. I liked reading people. I hated being forced out.

(Yes, pay,) Trainer snapped, breaking my self-pity. (I know something you want to know. I want something in exchange for it, no?) Trainer said using Form Alpha. By showing me nothing, he was telling me that he wanted something he couldn't speak or allude to. I would have to offer it up myself.

(What do you want?) I asked. I didn't particularly want to play his game.

(What do you think is a fair payment?) Trainer asked, narrowing his eye at me.

(I...I don't know,) I said.

(Well, let's consider this a moment, no? How will you access the information that you seek?) He asked.

(I thought you'd just tell me,) I said.

(Oh, Jennor, no! You don't want a verbal description of what happened to you, you want a truly developed image, don't you?)

I was beginning to see what he was getting at. A truth I had been too naive to consider.

Terenia had shown me countless memories by allowing me to touch her face. Gazing at her mind through her temple, I could remember any memory she chose to indulge in as clearly as she could. Could it work with Trainer as well? Could I see what he had seen during that strange, blissful time merely by touching his temple? Did I possess a power that worked over everyone?

This thought made me loathsome of it. It was too much like a Yeerk, reading and prying and stealing. I was like a Yeerk.

But that left one question unanswered: How could Trainer know about my power?

(A real image,) I laughed. (How could I obtain that?)

(You know how,) he whispered, serious now, tightening the line. I felt the pressure and was unsure how to continue. Fear from some unknown source welled up in me. What did he really want?

(Shame is not the appropriate reaction, Jennor. You have no control over what gifts fortune chooses to grant you,) Trainer said, approaching slowly. I felt the urge to run, but there was no where to go.

(You want me to touch your face?) I asked.

(That would give you what you want. What I want is simply a fair exchange.)

I wasn't sure whether the information I wanted was worth what he wanted in return. All he wanted to do was touch my face. Why was that so valuable? What did it mean? It had to mean something, but I couldn't imagine what. I longed for Terenia's expertise and advice. I trusted her. I didn't trust Trainer.

Then I realized that my own need to see outweighed all other concerns.

I sighed, began to demorph, and reached my arms up, preparing to touch him. He was taller than Terenia, and I approached more slowly. (Let me see,) I whispered. He grinned, unleashed his control over his emotions, and kneeled down.

At first, when I pressed my cold hands against the side of his head, flashes of memory flitted past, much faster than Terenia's, hurried, orderly, and alert. It took me a moment to accommodate myself to the flow of his thought, but then I did, and I could see clearly.

He wasn't thinking about the explosion. He was back on Andal, a younger man, maybe five or six years ago. The suns were beaming, the grass was rich, but all of that was overshadowed by something even more beautiful. He was with a young woman, who moved with a serpentine smoothness, who brushed her hand up, the barest whisper of a cold touch against his hip. Her sparkling stalk eye smiled, she bowed her chin slightly. Was it intentional? Was she teasing him? He wanted—

The vision changed to the dark glue planet. Trainer gazed up at the sky, saw the light shining through. Fear washed through him, thick like mercury. He knew exactly what it meant.

(_Aristh_, get out of there!) He yelled. Bucking through the mud to put as much distance between himself and the mines, he looked back at me with his stalk eye. I wasn't moving. Cold fear encased his hearts.

I looked so small.

I didn't move, and Trainer gasped one last breath of cool air. The mines exploded, plumes of uncontrolled red and orange blasted all over, stretching back toward the horizon, like the entire surface of the planet suddenly erupted in a cascade. Heat barreled through the air, knocking him over, covering him in mud. _No,_ he thought to himself, _not again. I can't lose her again._ Adrenaline surged and pulled him to his hooves. He glanced around frantically, eyes covered in mud, smoke and fog mixing everywhere...

His lungs heaving moist, boiling air, the sky above him curling and scorched red, he charged through the boiling swamp until he began hearing my distant, pleasant thoughts in his head. I was singing, thinking so loudly that anyone around could hear. Something I tried not to do, but once I started it was so hard to stop...

His flanks were getting steam-burned and his ears were ringing and deafened. Heat ripped through the water in pulsing currents, and soon he swallowed some, scorching his tender hoof-esophagi. His tail flailed and slapped, he threw his arms in front of him to clear away the fog and steam. And all the time my song got louder.

Pain screaming through him, air tearing through his lungs, his leg his something warm and soft. He looked down. It appeared like greasy blue-black driftwood, bobbing and rippling the water. But he knew.

_What in the name of Elder am I doing?_ He asked himself.

He turned me over.

My face was gone. Brain was exposed on the left side, skin burned away to reveal moist, smooth wires of muscle and eye. Everything stained and dripping with a mixture of gray, dirty water and blood. My skin was so singed that a blue-stained skeleton, blood vessels clinging like ivy, was visible underneath, cradling steaming, shiny organs. My ribs expanded and settled. Blood was pooling on the ground, diffusing through the gray water. I was missing half of my left arm, the rest of it shredded and twitching. I didn't even look Andalite anymore.

I'd never felt the need to see so much of myself. I'd never thought someone could survive such a brutal—

Trainer lifted my hand away from his head. He held it tight—not painful, but dominating. Then he smiled.

(My turn,) he said.


	20. Chapter Fourteen: Jennor

Chapter Fourteen

Jennor

PART ONE OF THREE

Additional combat training on Earth required a male human morph. Few humans would fight a female.

I retained the DNA from my original _frolis maneuver_. I used it to craft a male form.

I preferred the human female form. Humans were unstable, prone to excitement, half-blind, and ultimately defenseless. I had grown comfortable enough in the result of my original _frolis maneuver_. Most combat training programs accepted female students. Gymnastics, the practice of acrobatics and flexibility, seemed to prefer them. Both iterations of martial arts I engaged in, "Karate" and "Tae Kwon Do," accommodated my femininity.

They did require additional prerequisites.

"You need to wear a bra," my Tae Kwon Do instructor informed me after class one day.

"I prefer not to," I responded. I swallowed back the disgust that the human voice caused me. "It constricts breathing and flexibility. I am not required to wear one in gymnastics."

"Yeah, well, you're in a class with a bunch of ten-year-old boys who won't learn anything if they're staring at your flopping chest all day."

I looked down at the twin lumps of flesh. I tested their elasticity with my hands.

"I do not flop," I countered.

"Here. I got one for you. You should come to our women empowerment classes. Tuesday and Thursday at 7:00. You'd set a great example. You've got this, um…intensity that I think the other girls could afford to see. Consider this your bribe." She handed me a stretchy, constricting garment.

I nodded at her. This is a noncommittal gesture used to placate humans. I would not go to extra classes. I required no additional self-defense training. I required something else.

I did not wear the bra to this combat lesson.

This training did not take place in a facility designed for pretend violence. Most regulated human combat programs operated under the limited but socially acceptable mores of "self-defense." Karate, Tae Kwon Do, and every other fighting style I'd discovered did not teach all facets of human combat. I would need to learn how to attack.

There was real violence on Earth. I went to the places humans were afraid to go. I went to a "bar" in the "south side."

The first time I had entered this place, I was a female. I challenged every human to a fight. Each offered me a "shot" in return. I asked them to fight me after I accepted their "shots." One said yes. I drank his shot. He did not fight me.

The second time I entered with the male morph. I challenged every human to a fight. They did not offer me shots. They did not respond. They stared into their glasses until I moved on.

The third time, in male form, I did not challenge the humans to fights.

I simply began them.

A large, hunched man was sitting at the bar with a bottle in his hand. I grabbed the bottle. I threw it on the ground.

"Fuck—shit—bastard!" He growled. I did not respond. I pushed him off of his bar stool. He fell to the ground with a gasp and thud. The glasses on top of the bar rattled. Rage burned through his eyes.

He got up fast. We began to fight.

This is where I learned to punch and bite. Tae Kwon Do limited combat to the feet and legs. Karate focused on the hands. Human bodies had more weapons than this.

He hit me in the nose with his head. I thought this was particularly creative.

I continued my lessons in all areas. There were many forms and practices. Hundreds of fighting styles. I required knowledge of them all. I had become an expert at all forms of Andalite tail fighting. I would become just as expert at using the human body for combat.

I spent the remainder of my time continuing my mission in the Yeerk Pool. That mission was currently successful.

The necessity of housing the Yeerk Pool underground doubled as its weakness. Earth soil and rock is too cold for sensitive Hork-Bajir feet. Large, metal conductors lined both the soil and newly placed tile surrounding the pool itself. Their temperature was controlled by a small panel guarded by a single Taxxon.

My mines would detonate at a tactile temperature of 112 degrees Farenheit.

It had taken weeks of careful artistry to fashion all of the mines. Their girth was contingent on the size of the spaces between the tiles surrounding the pool. Depositing the mines was my next goal. I walked around the pool. The mines slid from my fingers. I drove them into the grout between tiles with my toes. It was slow, tedious work. I tried to cover most with grime and dirt that was plentiful in the large, domed cave. Some were visible. I could only hope no one would notice.

My disguise was perhaps the greatest strength of the plan. The Yeerks could only assume I was an infested host. A small earpiece emitted infrared and Kandrona rays. It was disguised by a thin holographic shield. It protected my true identity from the Gleet biofilters. Andalite holographic technology was not our strongest industry. It was better than the Yeerks'. This left me free from suspicion and the need to defend myself.

There was much in the medkit that the boy had not yet discovered.

I heard the alarms go off. This surprised me. It did not unsettle me. Sometimes rodents or other fauna evaded the hunter-robots. Their presence was more desirable than what the Yeerks referred to as "Andalite Bandits." Both tended to destroy Yeerk equipment. The distraction worked in my favor. I deposited 35% more mines than I had planned on that particular trip.

They did not catch whatever had penetrated their defenses. Exiting the Yeerk Pool was a slow process. Every controller needed to be hand-scanned. There was an aftershock of panic when the dead body of a Hork-Bajir was discovered. His first heart was a gaping, charred hole.

I was allowed to leave without incident.

It was late at night when I returned to the scoop. Large quantities of dust and grime had sullied my clothes in the Yeerk Pool. I stored them on the roof of the mall. They needed to be washed. I flew back to the scoop. I decided to spend some time studying the human television for any hints of Yeerk activity or affiliation. I wore my Tae Kwon Do uniform. I did not have another class for three days.

My human morph was unsettled for some unknown reason. The digestive tract would not calm. It was empty. I was not hungry. It continued to squirm uncomfortably. I felt the irresistible urge to put something in my mouth to settle it. I contented to chew on a cuticle.

Had the boy followed me? I had expressly told him not to, but he had disobeyed me before.

I stopped chewing on the cuticle. I took a deep breath. I was in control of the human body. The stomach settled.

I turned off the TV. I decided to check my supply of mines. I did not want to run out in the middle of the project. I did not want to have any left over. The supply seemed suitable.

I had hidden the medical box next to one of the marked trees just outside of the scoop. The boy had carved a jagged "x" into this one. It was easy to find.

I packed the earth over the box. My Shredder and holster were inside. I should have kept them unearthed.

"Hello, Jennor," a voice said too close behind me. It was the boy.

(_Aristh_,) I responded, carelessly wiping the dirt from the human hands of my morph to the white uniform. I resumed a standing position. (Do not address me so informally.)

"My apologies, Princess," he said, breath so close I could smell it. I felt the stomach contort again. There was no thought to quell it.

I turned around to face him. (That is not my title,) I said with attempted force. He was inches away from me. He breathed in hard and ragged. His eyes were wide and hungry. His lips were slightly parted. He was trembling. He leaned forward slowly. His breath was like a torch on my face. He reached up and pressed his hand hard against the cheek, sliding it up and gripping the curls of hair. The hair was a great inconvenience, for many reasons. I had not yet bothered to cut it off.

"No one so beautiful should have such a masculine title," he responded, shifting closer. His face settled into a self-satisfied expression.

(Unhand me,) I said quietly. He removed his hands. He held them up in a gesture of surrender. He gave a little shrug and laugh.

"No need to be so serious, ma'am. You haven't smiled once since you've been here, you know." I found myself calculating the amount of time it would take to retrieve the medical kit and remove my Shredder. The boy's hand reached up to the face again.

With either index finger, he pinched the corners of the mouth. The human eyes were wide, staring at him. He drove his fingers up. "See? Not so hard."

The human lungs inside of me pulled at air with too much strength. I gasped. An admittance of surrender. A pitiable human reflex. The boy smiled victoriously. His hands flattened and held the face still. His eyes were inches from me. "Not so hard at all," he said.

With a slight push, he forced me up against the tree. I did not resist. I could not think. His actions wiped all rational thought and logic from my mind. I could only stare blankly at his hard, gleeful eyes. I wondered vaguely what was happening, what had happened, what would happen.

His hands were smooth and dominant. They ran over curves of flesh in pre-ordained routes, beginning in places that made me shiver from the inevitable task of guessing where they would end. He'd drawn a target on me, starting at the circumference and working closer and closer to the bull's eye.

The uniform I wore was a simple obstacle for him to overcome. I hadn't bothered tying the green belt around my waist. Only a feeble internal knot stopped his hands from directly contacting my flesh. He untied it with precision. He opened the robe. He flattened his hand against my waist. He moved his hand down and around, gathering the flesh on my hip like snow. His eyes did not blink, his face did not move. Soon he felt confident. He moved his face forward and down, into my frame, disappearing from view. There was wet warmth on my neck, my shoulder, my chest. His hands continued to slither over my body. They bred like vermin as they went. There were eight on me and more, each discovering a new crevice, planting a new flag. I was losing physical autonomy.

"You smell and taste even more delicious than you look," he sighed, breathing on a wet spot on my neck. His tongue ran across my clavicle. "So many months wasted, resisting this temptation. So many cold, lonely nights, waiting for you to return so there was some chance of...unification."

An involuntary whimper escaped the sensitive human throat. The boy scoffed. He delved deeper. (I order you to stand down, _aristh_,) I covered.

A hand slid up the female chest. It carefully investigated each breast as it passed. It finally reached the throat. It gave a soft, threatening squeeze. An uncomfortable pressure. A spurt of panic. He pulled his face away. He touched the tip of the nose with his. He stared into the eyes.

"How can I stand down when I'm already up, Princess?" He pulled back the Tae Kwon Do uniform with one fluid motion. He exposed my upper body. The air was cool and violating. He released the throat and retreated to themey breast. He cupped it in his hand. The tip turned hard, like a fist. He continued to stare at me, daring me to resist, contradict, push back.

I couldn't. It was as though he'd turned my key. The engine stopped burning. My mind was blank. Eyes filled with inscrutable images. Body outside my control. I was still breathing. It was becoming more erratic.

I had no plan. No resistance. Nothing left at all.

"Please stop, Aximili. Please don't do this," the voice shattered. Begging and pleading. A terrible, human impulse I had no choice but to indulge. His lips, investigating mine with a leisurely pace, curled into a smile.

The present and immediate future were too horrible for my concentration. My mind meandered down the dark corridor of my past. For some reason, I revisited a day with Terenia, a day between training years, a look of pity on her face as she watched me waiting for my father to return.

How powerless I had felt.

Powerless had once been the only word to describe me accurately.

But that was not true anymore.

His right hand was firm, happy with my breast, massaging with a force that caused pain. The left traveled down, untying the thread that upheld the flimsy cotton pants, fingertips creeping into the waist band.

_Take control of it, Jennor_, I thought to myself.

I did.

I turned the key back. Flames leapt through the pistons. My eyes were staring into his. They finally saw what lay beyond.

_Untrained in human combat,_ I reminded myself. _Advantage goes to you. Ensure victory. Distract him first._

On daytime television, these situations always ended with the kind of unification he'd already referred to. I leaned into his face and gripped his lips with my teeth. In rhythmic, stiff cycles, I opened and closed my lips over his until I felt the grip on my breast loosen and the fingers now tangled in wiry human hair pull away.

The kiss ended. I did not pause. With as much force as I could spring from my shoulders, I jammed my forehead into his nose.


	21. Chapter Fourteen: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

"Ughgngh!" He moaned. He faltered back. He bent over. He put his hand to his nose. He pulled it away. No blood yet.

I kicked my barefooted leg forward. My toes were stiff. I aimed for his septum. I connected. His head snapped back with cartoonish force. It was very possible I'd broken his neck. I did not hear the snap that would indicate that. I'd jammed the second toe on my right foot.

He landed on his back. I followed. My pants drifted loose, down toward my ankles. I stomped my heel into the sensitive pouch between his legs. He cried out. It was a high-pitched, prickly, unnatural sound. I did not know the effectiveness of hitting that particular organ before my additional Earth combat training. He only knew about the gymnastics and Tae Kwon Do. That would also play to my advantage.

He was crippled, moaning, and subdued. I was not done. I accepted him between my legs, sitting hard on his abdomen, pinning him with my tailbone. The amount of blood he'd surrendered was still insufficient.

I balled my hands into fists and went to work. Once hard in the cheekbone, once up through the jaw, his tongue caught between clapping teeth. He moaned and sputtered red. Feeble arms reached up to stop me, unassisted by reeling eyes. I punched him again in the septum. With a satisfying snap, thin, dark streams began to flow, down his mouth, running along his jaw and off his ears.

I kept hitting him until his flesh was spongy, purpled, veiled in sticky, translucent blood. I kept hitting him until blisters formed on my hard human knuckles. I kept hitting him until after his arms dropped to his sides and his head did not snap back to center after I'd hit him. I kept hitting him until the air tasted like salt and iron.

I stopped and looked down at him. His eyes were swollen shut. A tooth hung at the corner of his lips. His nose no longer pointed forward. Blood trickled from his nose, mouth, and bruised cuts on his cheeks. I scrambled to my feet and dug through the dirt at the base of the marked tree, black crumbs and clumps sticking to my bloody hands. I pulled the Shredder out, dialed down the power, and shot him. That should keep him unconscious for four hours. It was an unreliable weapon and energy discharges were unreliable ways to keep people subdued.

I held the gun at arm's length and looked down at my defiled hands. They were shaking. The gun slipped through my fingers and clattered on the ground.

How had I let this happen? I was in charge. The prince. I must be obeyed. What natural law could have allowed this?

_Stop the hands,_ I told myself.

_You knew he was a threat when you offered to be his Prince, yet you did nothing to prepare for this. You didn't accept this as a possibility. You denied it. You are weak._

_My hands won't stop._

The trembling had crawled up to my shoulders. I wrapped my muddy arms around each other to calm them.

_Shelve the fear, coward. Put it away. It has no use now. You allowed it to blind you, and it almost destroyed you._

My chest and diaphragm began to spasm. I could not breathe correctly. My face stretched into a contorted mask, lips pulled back from teeth, eyes squinting down hard.

_Get up, Warrior. Get up now and finish what needs to be finished. Overcome by your own indulgent self-pity, distracted by this irrelevance. Starve the Yeerk. You have work to do._

I stumbled over to the tree with the "x" and rested my forehead against the rough bark. I could not catch my breath. Strange, whining, coughing sounds emerged from my chest. Thick saliva gathered at the tip of my lips and escaped my mouth in a long, slimy strand.

_Your father would be ashamed of you._

I caught the breath.

I pulled the arms from each other.

I wiped the saliva away.

I was in control of the body. I was in control of the mind.

A drop of sweat fell off the nose. I wiped it away. I noted that it had emerged from one of the human eyes.

I did not know humans had sweat glands in their eyes.

I realized I needed appropriate material to bind the _aristh_. He would become a _nothlit_. It was a necessary sacrifice.

The _aristh_ heaved and moaned on the ground. I did not know how much time I had. I returned to the scoop.

The scoop was untidy at best, mostly disheveled and unorganized. My search left muddy, clumped handprints everywhere. I could not find much in the darkness. I did not know what his organization strategy was. I spread piles of notebooks and magazines everywhere. I tripped on a stack of cassette tapes. I spun around in circles. I returned to piles I'd already ripped through. I began to panic.

I looked up at the moon. A silver ray of light slipped through the crack between the metal tent pole that served as the structure of the scoop and a wire that delivered electricity to his appliances from the generator he'd constructed. A thin strip of plastic wound around the pole and wire, binding them together.

A wire tie. I recalled seeing an industrious human use a similar method to subdue a prisoner in a human instructional film called "The Usual Suspects." It would suffice for the _aristh_. I walked up to the edge of the scoop. I tried to unfasten the wire tie. It was hooked into place. I would have to cut through it to release it. It was far too narrow to contain both of his wrists or ankles.

There had to be more.

I continued to search. The _aristh _coughed and jerked an arm forward. I kept glancing between him and my search. I spotted something out of the corner of my eye.

A fat, short cylinder reflected a sliver of light into my eye. I walked over. There was a large hole in the middle of the cylinder. It was some material rolled around a cardboard base. I dug my fingernails beneath the edge and pulled some free. It made a loud, satisfying unzipping sound as the adhesive stretched apart.

Duct tape. A strong material. Enough force could break it. It would suffice for now.

I began walking towards the boy. Another metallic glint distracted me. I discovered a pair of handcuffs beneath a deck of cards and white gloves. The handcuffs were designed to keep humans captive. They would be useless on an Andalite. I took the duct tape and handcuffs with me. I would find the key later.

I decided not to keep the boy in the scoop for the duration of his purge. The scoop was too well-trafficked an area. I was aware that the Animorphs would sometimes visit it. They rarely delved any deeper into the forest than that.

The duct tape was around my wrist. My holster and Shredder were around my waist. I handcuffed the _aristh. _I draped the _aristh's _body behind me, arms over my shoulders. I dragged the body into the meadow where we both fed. I hit him in the head with my gun to make sure he would not regain consciousness. Tobias knew the consequences of informing the Animorphs of my presence. I believed he and I alone would be suitable enough to handle one starving Yeerk.

I reached the meadow. I bound the _aristh's _legs together with the duct tape. I caught my breath. I realized I was covered in sweat and still topless. My white pants, now stained with red and brown, were only on one leg. I believed I had enough time to rinse off and get dressed. I bottled some cloudy water in the river. I ripped the sleeve off of my Tae Kwon Do robe to press against his swollen face.

I removed my cotton pants and entered the river slowly. The cool water washed the vibrating tension from my muscles. I submerged my head to clear the sweat from my hair.

I needed a plan.

Tactile contact would be necessary throughout the length of his infestation. I had damaged him badly. It was my responsibility to repair his injuries and to prevent the Yeerk from causing him new ones. I would require the dexterity and precision of appendages normally adapted through brachiation. The Yeerk would not make this quest easy. I would need to use force to keep him subdued.

I needed both hands and a weapon.

I emerged from the water and stared at the human hands. How different they were from my Andalite palms and digits. Thick fingers wrapped in ropy veins, powered by wire-like tendons. Forceful, yet delicate. Designed to support the entire weight of the body high in the trees, many generations ago. They were sensitive. They were strong.

They were warm.

They would not invite suspicion. I would have liked my tail blade. I would have my Shredder.

I could only guard the boy as a human.

I considered my current situation more deeply. A single Yeerk had invaded my home with the likely intention of subduing me and bringing my unconscious body to the Yeerk Pool. That seemed like an unsuitable plan. Was there another uninfested Yeerk on his person? Or had he, more likely, informed Visser Three, who would follow him as soon as a reasonably sized army could be assembled?

I replaced my sullied, one-armed Tae Kwon Top top. I returned to the meadow. Grayness was spreading through the sky. The boy was still unconscious.

I could not leave anymore. I divided my plan into two contingencies: until the Yeerk army advanced, I would protect and defend the boy as if they weren't coming at all. Upon Tobias' return, I would inform him of the situation. We could watch him in shifts. I would not waste precious sedatives on the boy or shoot him every time he awoke to keep him incapacitated. Shredder fuel was limited as well. Let him feel the pain.

My presence would be required when the Yeerk army advanced. I could not allow them to take the boy back with them. Tobias could escape. The boy and I would not. I could kill the boy before killing myself.

A little after dawn, the boy began to stir. I kept the wet sleeve pressed against his face so his swelling would continue to diminish. He could partially open his eyes when he awoke.

I pulled the rag away. (Morning,) I said.

"Good morning," he mumbled in response. His eyelids bobbed and dipped.

(I did not mean "good morning." I meant "it is morning," which means you have roughly four hours less to live.)

His eyes rolled into his head. He tried to pull his arms forward. His shoulders shook in frustration.

"You have four hours less to live, too," he said with a frightened laugh. His voice was unclear, garbled in blood and swollen tissue.

(That means much less to me than it does to you.)

"What is this, Jennor? Unbind me."

(I already told you not to address me so informally,) I responded.

He continued to test the handcuffs. He paused for a moment. He thrashed about wildly.

He exhausted himself. He stopped. He rolled over on his back to see me more clearly. "This is because of what I tried last night," He said.

(It is because you are a Yeerk,) I replied.

He laughed, then moaned from the pain it caused him. "You think I'm infested? Really? Jesus, Jennor," he said, rolling onto his front again.

(I know you are,) I said. (The disrespect. Your use of Earth idioms. You had a human host before the _aristh_, didn't you?)

Disappointment rolled through his eyes, and his mouth bent into a deranged smile. "You crazy fucking BITCH, take these off of me!"

I allowed him to catch his breath. He accepted my knowledge of the truth. (Do you really want to spend the last three days of your life denying what you are?)

"Why do you assume I have three days to live?" He asked.

(Less than that? When did you last feed? Did Visser Three himself pull you from the molten sludge and present you this invaluable gift?)

He laughed again, trying to contort his rigid body into a sitting position.

(No, that's not it,) I continued. (Visser Three grants no charity to his subordinates. He would not sacrifice the leverage of bearing the only Andalite host. You took the boy for yourself. But how could a human host overcome an Andalite _aristh_?)

His eyes looped up toward me.

(You weren't a human,) I concluded. (Taxxon? No, that's unlikely. A Hork-Bajir body was discovered in the Yeerk Pool. That was you, wasn't it?)

"That was nothing. I am me," he laughed.

(The boy killed you. How did you infest him?)

"Such faith you have in your pathetic, lovestruck _aristh_," he said.

I leaned in close to his face. (When are they coming here?)

He laughed again, then opened his mouth wide, reeling. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THIS CRAZY BITCH IS TORTURING ME! RAPE! FIRE! HELP!"

Surprise momentarily snatched my head back. I calmly grabbed the duct tape. I pulled off a piece. I held his thrashing head still between my knees. I wiped the blood and sweat from the lower portion of his face. I applied the duct tape over his slick mouth.


	22. Chapter Fourteen: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

(Much more civil to converse this way,) I said, getting up. I shoved his head to one side.

(There is nothing civil about your treatment of me,) the Yeerk snapped back. (You've condemned your _aristh_ to a half-blind human life, a life you've already scarred with massive injury, a life he will no doubt spend as a _vecol_ because of you!)

I sighed.

Smile came to his eyes and he continued. (This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted to condemn him to humanity. To subdue him. To handicap him. To dominate him.)

(I only want you dead, Yeerk.)

He paused for a moment, staring at me. My gaze shifted away. (Then why did you take such pleasure in beating the shit out of me?)

(I took no pleasure in that.)

(The look in your eye spoke differently.)

I had made it a habit not to indulge random spikes of curiosity. It had been a trying day. (What look?) I asked. The Yeerk smiled, a half-moon reflection in the duct tape.

(Everyone's got a poison, Jennor. Warm tits and beer were usually enough for me. Well, back then, at least. Your _aristh_ seems content with gluttony and idle sexual fantasies. But you, Jennor, you desire something much more dangerous.)

(You lost yourself in humanity, then,) I said. (That's why they took your human host away.)

The smile left his eyes for a moment but then returned. (How many people did you need to kill to get addicted to it, Jennor? How long does it take to confuse violence with stimulation?)

Breathing too hard, the Yeerk opened his newly scabbed septum. Blood dripped down his cheeks as thin as tears. A coagulated mist of it sprayed from his nostrils.

(Am I turning you on right now?) He asked.

I soaked the cylindrical cloth I'd used to clean his face before. It was already pink with diffused blood. He watched me carefully, eyes following the hand. I wiped the new streaks of blood away. I attempted to avoid causing him pain. I pressed it hard to the tender cartilage to stop the bleeding.

(Saving it for later?) He asked as blood spread through the fabric like fire.

(You will be dead soon, Yeerk. The _aristh_ will not be. He is salvageable.)

(Three days without food and water, coupled with everything you've already done to him...hmm, it might be close, Jennor.)

(The _aristh_ will survive.)

(You sure about that?)

(I have killed many people, Yeerk. I know death's threshold better than most.)

(And you enjoy sending people past it.)

(I enjoy nothing,) I responded.

(Now you're lying. We all enjoy something.)

I pulled the rag away from his face. I looked into his gleeful brown eyes. (I do not know why I am conversing with you,) I said.

(Because I hadn't hit a nerve yet.) He smiled with his mouth, warping the glistening tape, forcing a fresh stream of blood down his cheeks. I did not wipe it away.

(I have an IV,) I reminded the Yeerk. (I will not allow the boy to dehydrate.)

(Doesn't matter,) the Yeerk said. (You'll both be dead soon anyway.)

I gripped the cloth tightly in the hand. I leaned close to his face.

(When are they coming?)

(Oh, any minute now. The instructions I gave were not precise, but this place really isn't that hard to find.)

(Then why haven't they found it yet?)

(Limited resources. But if we'd known _you_ were here...)

He trailed off and broke eye contact with me. (What do you mean?) I asked. He laughed, spraying more watery blood out of his nose.

(What do you mean?) I repeated.

His head lolled and he rolled onto his stomach.

(What do you mean?) I repeated again. I grabbed his shoulder. I flipped him over. In transit, too much blood gathered at the back of his throat. He began to sputter. His breathing was hiccuped. He gazed up at me pleadingly. I dug my finger beneath the tape and ripped it off.

He coughed. Chunks of constricting flesh and blood dribbled from his mouth, down his chin and disguised his teeth. "Kiss me, Jennor, you crazy fucking sadist," he said, pouting his shiny lips at me. "I'm covered in your favorite aphrodisiac."

I pulled another piece of duct tape from the roll. (Better?) I asked.

"Not quite." He inhaled deeply through his mouth. With more force than I could have predicted, he spit out blood and other viscera in a wide, fanned arc. Most of it hit me in the face. "There, now you're wet in both ways, just the way he likes to imagine."

I placed the tape, still on the roll, against his mouth and wound it three times around his head.

(My mistake,) I admitted, wiping his blood from me with the soaked sleeve.

(Stress will do that to you,) he said.

(I am under no stress,) I responded.

(You really think you have me fooled, don't you? You trembled like a rodent, Jennor, you _begged_ me to stop. You really think I see you as this monolithic, omnipotent _warrior_, don't you? You don't even realize what you're doing, how easy you're making this!)

(Do not mention last night,) I warned.

(What was that about, really? Clearly you've been in the war for years, this can't be the first time some eager male propositioned you with less finesse and structure than your foul race normally requires.)

I should have stopped indulging him minutes ago. I should have ignored him. I should have begun some tedious chore that employed both hands and eyes. I was still shaken. I looked at him too intently.

(Ah, I see. History,) the Yeerk continued. (What was it, some overzealous young cadet? Recently? Not recently? Not that it matters much. I hear those wounds take decades to heal.)

(You'd be wise to stop now,) I said.

(Someone near to you? Someone not near at all? Was it during the war, or was that the reason you left home? Was it before you even knew you could fight back?)

(This is your last warning, Yeerk,) I said.

(It wasn't something as cliché as your father, was it?) He asked.

The Yeerk received no more warnings.

I dove onto him. I heard both shoulders snap when I landed on top of him. Pain mixed with crazed glee in his eyes. I wrapped the strong human fingers around his throat and squeezed. I squeezed until the pride in his eyes turned to panic. I squeezed until his flesh turned a ghastly purple color. I squeezed until the tendons in my wrist writhed in pain. His face bloated, veins protruding and filling with useless blood. His eyes bulged. The laughter never left.

_Stop, Jennor,_ a voice in my head said. _Do not kill the _aristh.

_The hands won't stop._

_He will die if you continue. The Animorphs will not forgive you. Nor will the Andalites. They will seek retribution._

_The hands won't stop._

_It is against the law for Princes to kill their _arisths_._

I released the Yeerk. He gulped great, bloody breaths through his nose. They were insufficient. I ripped open the tape in front of his lips and allowed him to breathe. He coughed, sweat and tears leaving clean tracks through the blood.

"Hello?" A voice called out from somewhere in the forest.

"HAA—" The Yeerk began. I pulled his head close, both of my hands over his bloody mouth.

"Ax? Where are you?"

(Say nothing,) I warned the Yeerk.

"Hello?" The voice continued, getting closer.

I realized there was nothing I could do. I could not render him unconscious for fear of killing him accidentally. I could not stop the inevitable private cries for help he was shouting. I could only hold him there, hidden, until our time diminished.

It was finally time to die.

Cradling his biting mouth in the pit of the elbow, I reached for my Shredder. I could not commit suicide without first putting up a fight. The situation was not entirely hopeless. Just mostly.

The boy's hands, free enough for limited mobility, settled in between the soft human legs. He grunted uncomfortably. He applied as much pressure as he could to the cold flesh of the upper thigh. He delved deeper. Even under threat of immediate death, the Yeerk did not abandon his mission.

A dark figure emerged in my line of sight. His hands sliced through tall stalks of grass like the prow of a ship. A single human. Was this the only army the Yeerks could conjure?

No. A scout. Or a decoy. Either way, he would have to die.

I held the squirming body of the Yeerk. I raised my Shredder. I aimed with as much precision as I could muster.

I fired.

Blue light lanced through the air. It hit the figure square in the chest. The light spread over his body like a stream of water. It held tight. It surrounded him and reformed at the back. It continued its path through the pasture. For a moment, the holographic disguise flickered. A titanium skeleton interspersed with bits of ivory was visible.

"Oh no," I sighed. _The Yeerks have androids._

The android approached with celerity. He played the part of a human. He was not human. His speed far exceeded theirs. I twisted the dial of the Shredder. I held it against the boy's temple. I prepared to fire.

"Wait! Stop, don't kill him!" The android stopped about 15 feet from us, holding his arms up in a gesture of peace. "We're nonviolent, I don't want to hurt you. I just came here to check on Ax."

(State your name,) I ordered.

"Erek. Who are you?" He asked.

(What are you?) I barked in response.

"An android. A Chee. My people are here resisting the Yeerks," he explained, arms still raised.

(Why should I believe you?) I asked.

His eyes flicked between the boy and me. "Why is he so beat up?" he asked.

The Chee had not answered my question. I shouldn't have trusted him.

I pulled the Shredder from the boy's temple. (He is infested,) I explained.

"Oh, God. Okay. There were rumors in the Yeerk Pool that an Andalite had been caught."

(Rumors,) I repeated.

"Yeah. That dead Hork-Bajir. People were guessing that he'd been traded out."

(Guessing,) I repeated, letting go of the Yeerk. I rose up to my feet. He looked up at me, eyes full of fury now instead of sick humor.

"Is he okay?" Erek asked.

"She was seconds from killing me," the Yeerk spat, blood flaking and crisping on his face.

(And there will be nothing stopping that now,) I responded. (The Yeerks are not coming here?) I asked the android.

"No, no. They don't know where he went," the android said. "He looks really bad. We should take him to my house to clean him up. You could use a shower, too." I looked down at my ripped, bloody, dirty Tae Kwon Do uniform, sullied in all manner of human and earthly excrement. I still held the bloody sleeve in my hand.

(He will be fine,) I said. I wiped the blood off of my Shredder with it. (I will oversee his convalescence when the Yeerk is dead.)

"That could take days," the Chee said.

(It will,) I responded.

"Who are you?" He asked.

(Warrior Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) I responded.

"Do the Animorphs—"

(No, and they will not,) I said. (Their effort is separate from mine.)

The Chee seemed confused. This was not an emotion I expected from an android.

"Do you want help watching him?" He asked.

(No. Thank you, Chee,) I said. (I appreciate the information you brought here.)

"I should stay," Erek said. "You can't handle this by yourself."

(I am more than sufficient, Chee. Continue your effort in the Yeerk Pool. I would appreciate being informed if they piece together what happened. Tobias will return. We both are sufficient.) The boy laughed behind me.

"Tobias is gone," the android said flatly. "They went on a trip to plan their post-secondary education. They won't be back until the end of the week."

I felt stiff tension rise into the human chest. I breathed it away. (I see.)

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

(Yes.)

"Okay, well, call my house if you need help or anything. 412-8520. Got it?"

(Yes, Chee,) I said.

"Erek," he corrected. "Here I'm Erek."

(Noted.)

He gazed me up and down for a moment, shook his head slightly, and turned to leave.

I watched as the Chee made his way through the pasture. His disguise was more human than mine would ever be.

I breathed deeply, lungs filled and exhausted. I had not slept in nearly 30 hours. Now I knew I was alone. I could not sleep until the Yeerk was dead.

The boy was on his back. He was wheezing and panting from suffocation and strangulation. Flaps of ripped tape hung off his cheeks like an insect mandible. I noticed the front of his white T-shirt was covered in a long, tapered strip of blood. He seemed subdued for the moment. We sat in peace for a few hours.

Exhaustion continued to overwhelm me. My Andalite body could stay up for days without inhibiting functionality. I had stayed awake for 87 hours once before. My human form was much more prone to exhaustion. Human bodies obey a very strict set of circadian rhythms. They yearn to sleep eight hours per day, even if they do not exert themselves physically or psychologically. I had expended much physical energy. I passed 35 hours of consciousness. I looked at the boy. He seemed to have drifted off. I walked over to check on him. I could not sleep. I would sit and rest.

His eyes were closed. A long red strand of drool trailed from the corner of his mouth. I reached the hand to his face to check his breathing.

"You should have let the android stay," he whispered suddenly. I pulled the hand back. It was too late.

The loose handcuff came flying toward my temple, and there was nothing to stop it.


	23. Chapter Fifteen: Terenia

Chapter Fifteen

Terenia

PART ONE OF THREE

The minute the cool air hit my face, I felt like I was home. The Empress felt it too. She closed my eyes and breathed in deep. I thought of a summer in Georgia, running through scratchy grass between sheets hung like sails on a line to dry, playing make believe war games with the other cosmonauts and martians.

(I need you, Terenia,) Terliss said softly as she entered the Dome Ship, fingering her Dracon Beam, flanked by her two huge Hork-Bajir. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to wipe the comforting pictures from my mind.

(No,) I spat, flame churning in my belly. (I can go wherever I damn well please.)

(If you'd like to survive long enough to continue daydreaming, then you'll stay here with me now,) she said. (Delayed gratification. A valuable skill.)

I groaned as she made her way through the wide halls of the Dome Ship.

It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. The ceiling was just like the red and gold shifting Andalite sky. Some kind of trick of the light. A hologram, maybe. It moved in that slow way that clouds do. Everything seems still at a glance, but you can see the changes if you stare long enough. The grass was better than I thought it would be. Like the first summer popsicle, the first winter cup of cocoa. A pleasant taste I'd long forgotten. We couldn't breathe the air yet, but it felt like cool silk on my skin.

For the first time in a long time, even though this wasn't it, I really did feel like I was home.

Terliss took some comfort from this feeling. She was more scared than a turkey on Thanksgiving, but she marched in pace and gave orders to the small battalion of alien creatures in stride behind her.

(If you find any Andalites who have resisted the fumes, subdue and infest them first. We want as few casualties as possible. The poison should last four more hours before it's filtered by the air purification system. We need this ship in our control in two.)

To the four Hork-Bajir right behind: (I want you to go to the Dome. Follow this hallway all the way to the end. Andalite protocol dictates low-ranking soldiers retreat to the Dome in emergencies. See if any made it that far. Infest the strongest first. I'll send more Yeerks if the need arises.)

To the Taxxons following them: (Open each of these quarters and infest the Andalites therein. If the doors are locked, place a guard there and wait until we send someone to manually open it.)

To everyone: (I want everyone on this ship alive. Don't kill out of spite or fury. Kill only out of absolute, irrefutable necessity.)

Thankfully, the ship's layout made Terliss' infestation plan pretty simple. The Pool Ship was set up like a web, with intersecting hallways and dropshafts and lots of labyrinthine passages. The Dome Ship, in contrast, was a straight line, doorways every few yards or so, full of private quarters and storage closets and meeting rooms. Terliss stepped outside of the closest to the docking port and nodded to her two blue-band warriors.

They opened the door and inspected the room. Small, but not too small—warrior's quarters? Not many personal effects, not much hanging on the walls, but the most striking feature of the room was the most obvious. There was a prostrate Andalite, sprawled and unconscious, heaving slowly and deeply on the ground. They looked back at her with a hesitant look. She was holding the box containing her assistant. Would this be Nagrit's host?

For some reason, she shook my head, and they infested the Andalite with one of their own.

She allowed him a moment to wake up, to overcome the poison by squeezing the Andalite's adrenal glands hard as he could. The Hork-Bajir put a mask with a mixture of fresh oxygen and antidote over his nostrils, encouraging him to breathe and filter deeply. He rose slowly, hand to forehead, dizzy from the fumes.

(What does he know?) She asked.

One of the Hork-Bajir grabbed his arm and pulled him up the rest of the way. The Andalite clung to him like a three-year-old on his mama's skirt, grabbing the safe ends of his blades like ladder rungs.

(Know? Ah...nothing. No, nothing. Terrible headache. He's still unconscious. He has…no memories of the infiltration.)

Terliss allowed herself a little bit of relief.

(I think he was one of the first to fall,) the Yeerk continued. Terliss stiffened my neck.

(Let's continue,) she said.

The next few quarters were pretty much the same. A couple groups of Hork-Bajir went ahead to check out more. A few were locked, and hungry, shivering Taxxons stood in front of them, drool spilling from their woodchipper mouths.

It became organized. The fear started to filter away. The poison was effective, the troops were quick and organized, and I got kind of bored.

We opened the next door. One of the blue-banders began a joke about Taxxon politicians.

A furious Andalite with thick cloth taped around his nostrils lunged his tail forward.

(YEERK SCUM!) He cried. It was so loud and undiluted that it stunned all of us. Terliss blocked his tail out of instinct so sheer it may have been me doing it. She didn't have the expertise or strength to beat him, and he pushed forward, blade inches from my face.

The two Hork-Bajir tackled him, piled on top of him, pinned him to the ground for a moment. The Andalite squirmed and wiggled and fought back, striking the Hork-Bajir everywhere, flicking green and blue blood all over his quarters, pumping it onto the ground. If it had been a bigger space, he might have stood a chance. They shoveled him into a corner, and with one large fist the size of his head, one of them knocked him out.

"Are you all right, sir?" One Hork-Bajir asked, heaving, cradling a cut on his forearm. He raised a hand to her, and for a minute, she let him, reminded of Nagrit and the comfort his vicious hands offered. But then she stepped back, staring at him, wide-eyed, sweating, and breathing shaky.

(Infest him,) she ordered. (We can't afford to waste time.)

She put a shivering hand to her forehead and cradled the box in her arms like it was full of chicken eggs. I scoffed at her.

(Thought this all would go down without a hitch, did you?) I asked.

(No, no, of course not. But that look in his eye, the absolute_ fury_...I didn't know such hate was possible.)

I laughed at her a little, and stopped when I realized she wasn't joking. (Wait...seriously?)

(I know the Andalites hate us. I'm no fool. I've seen everything you've seen, but that was just...unattainable. I don't think I could ever hate something that much.)

We continued down the hallway. A group of three or four Hork-Bajir were congregated outside of one particular room. Two were inside, holding a thrashing Andalite, one roughly by the tail and the other gently by the temples, while they held a Yeerk to his ear.

(Stop,) Terliss said, approaching. (How many have you tried?) She asked.

The Hork-Bajir stopped and looked at each other, confused. The squirming little Yeerk reached two little gummy grabbers for the Andalite's ear, but the Hork-Bajir holding him pulled him away.

"This is the third," one of the Hork-Bajir holding the Andalite finally answered. "The others, they all died."

(Subdue him and bring him to the brig. We'll deal with him later,) Terliss said. They continued to gaze around at each other.

"You knew this would happen?" Another Hork-Bajir said.

(I hoped it wouldn't,) she responded, tightening my grip on the box. (You, inform your brothers of this new protocol. The rest of you, get back to work.)

That, somehow, gave Terliss confidence. She felt like she could deal with anything. She gave command to her temporary adjutant and decided to review the damage in the Bridge.

Yes. Everything unexpected had happened. It would all go according to plan from here.

(Wait out here,) she told her two guards. (If anyone is still alive, I'd like the chance to talk to them first. See if I can convince them I'm on their side. I'll call you if I need you.)

She tried to open the door. It wouldn't budge.

(Still jammed, from earlier. Going to take hours to repair, I suspect.) she sighed. (There's got to be a—)

(If I may, sir,) an Andalite voice behind her. One of the hosts that had already been successfully infested. They'd given him a mask, and though he still looked kind of woozy, he was awake.

She stood aside and allowed him to work.

(My host was a member of the bridge crew,) he explained as he opened an invisible control panel beside the door. (A junior tactical specialist. He worked third shift. Only got off work two hours ago, actually.) His fingers deftly flew over the controls.

(Will this take long?) Terliss asked.

(No, in fact, I believe that—)

The seal broke like a jar of pickles and a breeze of cool air wafted past.

(Thank you,) Terliss said as she made her way inside.

(Should I—) he asked, but she waved him off, making her way inside.

The smell and a wave of warmth hit me before anything. It's a mostly universal trait to find the slaughter of your own kind horrific. Well, I mean Taxxons may be the exception, but Andalites?

I felt like I was going to vomit. And I didn't even have a mouth.

It was a slaughterhouse. The stench of blood and filth everywhere. Andalites decapitated, cut open like sacks of milk, oozing half-congealed blood, puce- and swamp-colored organs spilled in steaming, slippery piles. And eyes, dead eyes that were vacant and flat, yet frozen in horror and regret…My hand raised to cover where my mouth would be. I don't know if Terliss or I did it.

Hot spikes in my shins and shoulders, Terliss closed my eyes and composed herself. Held a hand over her mask to act like a pointless filter for the smell. She felt faint from the images burned into my forebrain. Hand shaking, she wiped a fresh sheet of cold sweat from my forehead and opened her eyes again.

Still horrifying. Less so now. She'd adapted to it a little bit.

She started inching around, surveying the damage. Blood had spilled everywhere and it was hard to avoid. Vast puddles surrounded the victims, creating a grisly hedge maze, and a fine dew of dark blue blood covered the walking paths. I could taste it. She closed my hooves. She approached one victim, leaning down to a tan, old-looking Andalite with army green eyes, face covered in pock marks and scars. With some tenderness, she wiped away the jellied blood that ran between his eyes from a stab wound in his forehead. He looked important. Maybe he had been the Captain.

Continuing her tour, she began to piece together what had happened. Fear opened the veil that normally kept her thoughts from mine. Attacked by Yeerks, sending unheard messages to the rest of the crew and weapons systems, like a crippled man trying to run, the ultimate decision of the Bridge Crew had been to commit suicide.

What protocol had they followed in the meantime? Had anyone been alerted? Any Andalite on this ship? Wasn't there some back-up communications device they could have used? Wasn't there some failsafe? When had they decided suicide was the only option? How easily had they given up?

That 4% failure rate itched the back of her mind.

She continued to walk around the bridge, gazing at flashing red and purple control panels covered in translucent, saran-wrap layers of blood. One dead Andalite sprawled on top of one like he was taking a nap, except for the expanding puddle of blood beneath him.

She touched everything. She dipped my fingers into the puddles of blood, gauging the temperature. It was still warm, but not very. Luke warm. Like hour-old bathwater. Most puddles were the same. It had happened simultaneously. Mass suicide.

Most of the Andalites had used their tails only on themselves, some more gruesome than others. Some had tried to cut their heads off, stuck halfway at the instant their nervous system gave out, others had slit open their throats, or had driven their tail blades into their hearts from behind. Some had killed each other, tail blades still plunged through a partner's chest or eye socket. All had fallen over, splayed on the ground like spin art.

Continuing to test the puddles of blood, she found one that was still warm. Still alive. She looked up. A single Andalite was lodged under a control panel, hidden from view by his fallen bridgemates, and was gazing up at her.

He was beautiful.


	24. Chapter Fifteen: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

I'd never seen anything like him before as an Andalite. Some of the boys Jennor had trained with were cute, but even then, the fact that I recognized it sort of creeped me out more than anything. I shouldn't be attracted to blue centaurs. That was sort of weird.

But this Andalite…even by human standards, he was handsome. His eyes were deeply, richly brown: big, satisfying, wet, hurt, tired, craving mercy. His jaw was long and broad, and skin stretched over his rugged, perfect bone structure, emphasizing every curve, glowing with health and vitality. His fur was gilded, shining brightly in the overhead, naturalistic light, defining every crease and fold of his rich muscles. I liked his shiny fur very, very much. Enough to know that it was Terenia's liking, not Teresa's. And his tail, his tail was long and big and his tail blade was glinted and sharp and something about that relieved me very, very much. His figure was strong, but not bulky. Broad, but not massive. Powerful, but not frightening. He could protect me without threatening me. Hold me without hurting me. Everything about him was perfect. I'd never felt like this as an Andalite. I wanted to touch him, run my hands over his chest and down his abdomen, press my cheek to his. I wanted to comfort him and ease his tension. I'd never been attached so desperate to someone in my Andalite body. I didn't think that feeling was possible for these cold, proud, distinct creatures. The blood covering everything disappeared. The sky overhead was real, the grass beneath was from home, grown right on Andal. The tedious, unceasing desire I had to eventually return to Earth disappeared. I would have been fine spending the rest of my life in that rancid, horrible slaughterhouse as long as I got to spend it with him.

Love at first sight. Something I never believed in before right then.

(I suppose we've found him, then,) Terliss said to me.

That snapped me out of…whatever it was I was stuck in. That's what she'd been waiting for. That's why she hadn't been so quick to choose a host for Nagrit. She was waiting for me. My reaction. She didn't care what Nagrit's host would look like. She already had a heart, a mind to love. Now she just needed a body, and she wanted it to appease hers. She needed to answer all those troublesome hormones and chemicals, quiet that quaking, unfulfilled desire her love had forced me to feel.

Me. She needed to please me.

But was it me? Were my Andalite hormones, the fact I found him attractive, the uncomfortable, unceasing need to find a mate, was any of that mine? No. It was my body's, but not mine. She didn't need to please me. She needed to please the flesh that we shared.

The flesh she had taken.

The flesh that was hers.

The poison had not been pumped into the Bridge of the ship, so he was still conscious.

(I tried to do it,) the beautiful man sobbed in a desperate, musical voice, reaching up toward me._ Let him touch me_, I thought, despite myself, and Terliss held her ground as his smooth fingertips grazed my face. (I couldn't do it. They all fell down, screaming in their heads, I couldn't do it.)

(It's all right,) she assured, tucking the canister under my arm and kissing his face with the opposite. (It's all over.) I felt my shoulders scream in assent, felt something rumbling deeper, as my fingers passed over the warm, supple curves of his face.

(But it's just begun,) he said. (The Yeerks are coming. They might already be here.)

(Yes, they're here,) she agreed, and the Andalite continued to cry. (Don't worry,) she said, placing the canister on the ground and holding his face in my hands. (There's nothing you could have done.)

(I didn't do anything,) he said, reaching up and holding my wrists. (I am a coward.)

(You are alive,) she said. (Isn't it more cowardly to run toward death and hide in its embrace of oblivion?)

He continued to sob, and she wrapped my arms around his head, burying him sweetly in my chest.

She allowed me a few moments of bliss, a few moments unstained by the fact that I would soon be an intimate observer rather than a direct participant. I was unsure, but I thought for a small instant, she allowed me direct control, and I rubbed my cheek on the top of his head, a warm, natural spot between his stalk eyes.

(Do you trust me?) she asked him.

(I don't know,) he whimpered. She pulled him from within my chest and stared directly into his perfect, brown eyes. Something almost like shame flitted through me. Was I allowed to look at something so flawless?

(Close your eyes,) she said, and he closed his main ones, which annoyed me more than anything.

(All of them,) she corrected. His stalk eyes closed and drooped.

She ran my hand along his cheek, tracing the tip of his ear between thumb and index finger. I felt him shudder beneath me. (You shouldn't feel ashamed,) she said, grabbing the canister and unscrewing it. (You're a very special person with a very important purpose.)

A troubled look came to his face and his eyes became slits. (Keep them closed,) she said with tender force, and he obeyed.

Lifting the canister with one hand, and holding a kiss on his cheek with the other, she whispered, (I've waited almost twenty years for you.) Carefully, in no hurry, she lifted the canister up to his ear and held it less than an inch away. The curious tip of the Yeerk she so loved came out, and with expertise saved only for the highest-ranking Yeerks, latched onto his ear.

The Andalite realized her treason immediately. His eyes flew open, filled with that same surprising rage she had seen before, and it pained her even more now. She would enjoy him, but she could never erase that look of hatred from my memory.

He tried to get up, but she was holding him down with her arms, her forelegs folded over his. He thrashed around, trying to get up as Nagrit slithered inside of him. His tail was pinned under the headless, drained body of another Andalite, so he scratched at me with his fingernails, and for the most part, she allowed it, holding her hands in front of her face in case he damaged something that couldn't grow back.

But Nagrit descended further, into the ear canal, touching the brain, and as the beautiful Andalite continued to thrash, ice-cold fear filled her belly, the way your mouth waters when you're hungry. Was this Andalite uninfestable too? Had she just sacrificed the grub she loved for something as vain and selfish as good looks? She should have tested him first, made sure with a Yeerk that mattered less to her.

But that wouldn't have been in keeping with the Empire she'd built, where every Yeerk mattered, where no one was expendable.

Fear filled her so quickly that it overflowed and she shivered, shaking, crying in her Andalite way.

(Biggest battle in Yeerk history and you're crying over some boy,) I managed to scoff, only a little bitter about the fact that this intimacy was over for me. (Coward.)

But soon, the thrashing calmed. The breathing settled. Cold determination replaced the empty despair and wild fury in his eyes. A stalk eye turned my way, and even I could recognize that deep, ceaseless gaze that lasted so long it almost became uncomfortable, that gaze that screamed how deeply he cared and loved, that promised how he'd never give up.

(Nagrit?) She whispered, watching that eye with too much hope.

He didn't respond for a moment. Fear filled her again. But then his hand reached forward and grabbed hers.

With a cry of relief, she threw herself forward and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, buried my face in his chest. He smelled wonderful, like a sunset on Andal, and his soft, smooth fur was like sleeping on a sunlit cloud in a TV commercial.

(A moment,) he said, pushing her back slightly.

She leaned back and watched him with concern. (If you can't infest him, it's all right, we'll find someone else, Terenia just liked him so much and I wanted it to be effortless and perfect and—)

(No, that's what I want. I want a moment now,) he interrupted. (One perfect, effortless moment. The rest will not be effortless or perfect.)

She watched him carefully, watched as every quirk she had fallen for emerged—the slightly bowed head always in reverence, the careful motions, too used to a dangerous Hork-Bajir body, the penetrating gaze, the soft touch and gentle devotion. He wrapped my body in his arms, still pinned to the ground under the dead Andalite, adjusting his arms unconsciously like he would if they were covered in blades, and for a period both immeasurable and too short, they just sat, comforting each other, still and in love.

I should have done something, I guess. I should have ruined it somehow. I should have said something crude and humorless, something gross and immature. It wouldn't have been hard. I'd gotten pretty good at distracting little quips over the years. But part of me felt just as relieved as she did that this stupid project she had begun over 15 years ago had finally been a success. I mean, she was the one with the unconsummated love affair, but it was _my _body that felt the frustration. So, part of me felt ecstasy and warmth and a sense of conclusion—the pinnacle of existence. It wasn't her success. It was_ ours_.

Still, it scared me. Was I only feeling this way because of the raw attraction I felt for Nagrit's new host? Was this sense of relief her gift to me? Or were we fusing, was she swallowing me up more and more every day?

(We should oversee the infestation of the rest of the ship,) Nagrit finally said, stroking where my hair would be, either hours or seconds later.

(No, no, they can handle it,) Terliss responded, hands up against his warm chest, rocking fingers back and forth like he was a piano. (We may never be alone again.)

(Any second your guards are going to come in here, thinking you've been assassinated by a rogue Andalite,) Nagrit responded.

(Then give us these last seconds,) Terliss sighed, heaving lungfuls of his overwhelming, tantalizing scent.

(They don't know about us yet, Terliss, and if they find out...)

(All right, all right, you always kill the fun,) Terliss pouted, getting up, attempting to push the dead Andalite off of Nagrit. She loosened his tail enough that he could get pull it out and rise to his hooves.

Once he stood up, a large gash in his flank reopened, spurting blood.

(Oh Nagrit, you're hurt,) she said with a weird sort of girlish vulnerability, rushing over and pressing my hands against the wound. They didn't do much good.

(It's all right,) he said suddenly, placing a hand on my shoulder. (I can morph.)

She stood back and wiped the blood off my hands, watching as Nagrit changed into a _Kafit _bird. He opened his arms wide, feathers dripping from them like water off a drainpipe. Four more wings emerged from his ribs, spreading wide and translucent. His head narrowed and lengthened into a beak, eyes turning hard and orange like a Hork-Bajir's, almost more accessible that way, more familiar. He shrank, Andalite legs and tail withering and changing, mammal to bird. Before too long, he finished: a large, predatory, six-winged bird hopping along the Andalite grass as if it were born there.

(I've never seen someone morph before,) Terliss gasped. (I mean, Terenia saw a few, but those memories are old and incomplete. That was...breathtaking.)

(I wish you could experience it,) Nagrit said. (It's strange, I feel like a bird. I_ am_ a bird. But I'm still me. And him. I am too many things right now.)

(Then demorph, don't get confused,) Terliss snapped, a little jealous and impatient. Nagrit obeyed.

(We'll need to clean this place up. Burn the bodies in a shuttle. A shame,) Nagrit said. (Andalites abhor cremation.)

Terliss gazed worriedly at Nagrit for a moment. He shouldn't care about Andalite taboos and superstitions. No, don't worry. He had a new host. It would take some time for him to get comfortable, become himself again. It would be fine.

She left the bridge first, grabbing an extra gas mask from the two Hork-Bajir standing guard in front. Gazing down the long hallway of the Dome Ship, I saw at least four doors guarded by Taxxons. Farther down, teams of Hork-Bajir were still opening doors to quarters and infesting the Andalites inside. She went back inside the Bridge and fitted the mask to Nagrit's face.

(Are you ready?) She asked.

(More than ever, sir,) Nagrit responded.

We left the Bridge and made our way down the infinite hallway.

Thought-speech cries of anguish mixed in with Hork-Bajir grunts of exertion. Taxxons screamed every once in a while, but those screams were becoming more sluggish. None of the sounds distracted from the electric heaviness in my gut, the intense longing to hold and rub and support the weight of the man walking beside me.

(The Taxxons are losing energy,) Nagrit said. (This environment is too cold for them.)

(Yes,) Terliss said heavily. (They won't last the whole day. This ship will have to be run mainly by Andalite hosts. Even the Hork-Bajir won't work at full capacity.)

Nagrit looked over to my knitted eyebrow. (You don't think that's a good idea?)

(Andalites are a volatile variable,) Terliss explained. (We've had Gedds since the beginning, and they're barely sentient. We've domesticated the dimwitted Hork-Bajir. The Taxxons are difficult to control, but we've learned some tricks. Humans could become dangerous if they ever learned more about us, but right now, their inexperience is mollifying their behavior.)

Nagrit nodded in understanding.

(I don't know how this will work, Nagrit. They hate us so deeply, so completely, their entire purpose is currently bent on our destruction...) She trailed off, sighing in a mix of exhaustion and fear. (We can infest them. Perhaps that should be enough.)

(Perhaps it would be prudent to meet the ones we cannot infest. The uninfestables,) Nagrit said. (Perhaps we could learn more about the depth of their hatred that way.) I don't know if Terliss noticed it, but I heard a spike of that intensity in Nagrit's voice.

(Perhaps,) she sighed, hating the uncertainty of the word.


	25. Chapter Fifteen: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

We made our way to the brig, directly across from which was the Captain's quarters. What she would surely claim as her new home. She opened the door.

The brig was really just a hallway that went about 40 feet inside. On one wall, there were six closet-sized cubby holes shielded by glowing red force fields. Two Hork-Bajir had their backs to us, stiffly aiming Dracon Beams at three puffed-out Andalites against the hull wall, muttering threats about blowing them into space and watching them burst like too-greedy mosquitoes. Two were discussing between themselves in the dark, furthest corner of the hall, and the other was glaring furiously at his Hork-Bajir guards, stance set far apart, stalk eyes and tail twitching furiously.

(Just like Andalite arrogance to make one cell block with only six cells…and besides, why aren't they being used?) Terliss asked the guards and Nagrit. The guards' shoulders stiffened a little, but they couldn't respond without letting the Andalites know we had no where to put them.

(They probably couldn't disengage the force fields,) Nagrit said, walking over to a control panel and hitting a few buttons. The force field flickered and disappeared.

(File them in,) Terliss ordered. The Hork-Bajir herded the three Andalites into the cell as we stood back, watching. Nagrit tapped a few more keys on the control panel, securing the field in place. One Andalite in one of those cells would have been uncomfortable, three reminded me of the amount of space that a livestock transport truck provided. They shifted and writhed in anger, fear, and claustrophobia.

(How much of the ship is infested?) Terliss asked the guards as they stiffened in salute.

"Nearly three-quarters, sir," one said. "We sent troops to the Dome to work backwards. We're meeting in the middle."

(Very well. We can expect one more uninfestable, then,) she said. (What is this ship's complement?)

The Hork-Bajir looked to each other, unsure.

(The ship's complement is 429, sir,) Nagrit said privately to her. (Unless you wanted—)

(Right,) Terliss turned to the glaring Andalite, whose eyes were gray like clouds. (Andalite, what is this ship's complement?)

(You can't even infest me! How could a filthy piece of scum possibly believe I'd honor any question you have?) He growled. (You've already sullied this ship with your presence, but my integrity is invulnerable to you.)

(I don't sully, Andalite, I simply reclaim,) Terliss said quietly, still made uncomfortable by his unceasing look of hatred. (Will you answer the question?)

(You cannot get inside my head,) he said with something like a laugh, though fury replaced all mirth. (You can't infest me. I will not allow you there willingly.)

(Just because I can't infest you doesn't mean I will ask for permission to harvest you,) she whispered. (Not everyone is so strong, and I will certainly remember that during interrogation.)

His gray eyes narrowed even further, intensifying the glare.

(It's insanity, then? That is what makes you different? Immune?)

He did not answer.

(What about you?) She asked the other two Andalites. They each glanced back with a stalk eye, but did not answer.

(What do I have to threaten to get you to answer?) She asked them all. Nagrit put a hand on my shoulder, a warm claw cutting through my gut.

(They'll give us information,) he said privately to me. (We'll need to prepare first. You're good at intelligence work, but you're distracted now.)

(Very well,) she told him, longing to reach back and touch his hand. She controlled herself. I whined in frustration.

Nagrit turned to leave, but just as he did, three Hork-Bajir crashed through the door, carrying a middle-aged man—one on each arm, two wrist blades pressed to his throat, the third barely controlling a wild, thrashing tail.

(Number four,) Terliss said with a smile. (Perhaps he'll be more cooperative.)

A Hork-Bajir punched him in the head, and he let out a squeal from his wind pipe. He fell to the soft deck of the ship, rubbing his nose which was now drizzling navy blood. The remaining Hork-Bajir raised their Dracon Beams to the three other Andalites. Nagrit powered down the force field, and they shoved the newest prisoner inside. Tails and arms and stalk eyes all tangled in the claustrophobic space. It had the same affect as a Picasso painting.

(What is this ship's complement, Andalite?) Terliss asked the newest prisoner with a disappointed look from Nagrit.

(Rot in hell, Yeerk,) he spat, blood running down his chest as he shoved away another Andalite's arm. The Andalites quickly righted themselves, standing in tight, collapsed postures.

(Tell me or I'll kill them,) she said, taking her Dracon Beam and gesturing it at the group of two conversing Andalites who smiled defiantly.

The man wiped his chin again, gauging to see if she was bluffing. (You should kill us all,) he said.

(I'm considering it,) she said, cocking the weapon. (I thought I would give you the choice.)

(There is no choice,) the twitching, glaring, gray-eyed Andalite said.

(Then why haven't you made it yet?) She asked. (You're conscious, the poison has worn off enough in this sealed room for you to make the decision. Make it, Andalite.)

He laughed, raised his tail blade high above his head and smiled. (This will never be for you, Yeerk,) he said. He cracked it down hard over his skull. A splintering sound. Blood exploded from his head like shrapnel, hitting the force field and sizzling. I watched his eyes the whole time, saw the stab of pain, saw the life leave them. He crumpled over, blood dripping down his face in thick streams, bursting out with the last two beats of his dying hearts. Even when he hit the ground, his tail was still stuck in his head like an axe in wood.

The newest uninfestable immediately knelt over him, losing his footing and tripping, carefully examining the wound, inspecting for any chance of miraculous recovery. There was none. He bowed his head, eyes closing solemnly.

(One has upheld his responsibility and devotion to the Andalite race,) Terliss said, powering down her weapon. (Perhaps there are things more precious to the rest of you.)

She looked down at the kneeling Andalite, who was still absent-mindedly inspecting the new corpse. (Are you a doctor?) She asked him. He glared up at her with a stalk eye.

(You've made the choice between life and death,) she said. (There is another you have to make now. Cooperation or resistance?)

(What do you think?) He growled.

(You have nothing to lose, then?) She asked. (You are here with no mission, no directive, you have no motivation to stand before me with such reckless audacity?)

He looked away. She smiled in triumph.

(I don't use the word "cruel" to describe myself often,) she explained to him. (I don't like being cruel. But you are an anomaly, Andalite. You are unexpected. When presented with situations I don't know how to handle, I tend to err on the side of cruelty.)

(What do you want from us?) He asked.

(Just cooperation. Not even treason. You're prisoners of war,) she said. (If you're a doctor, then be a doctor. Help your Andalite brethren not lucky enough to exhibit your...strength of will. A Yeerk Pool will be constructed on this ship. I would rather not waste my precious new hosts on hard labor. Build me a Yeerk Pool,) she said.

The Andalites were saturated with fury. But they were considering.

(What is your name, Andalite?) She asked quietly, bending down so she was just inches from his electric green eyes, separated by the force field. (No,) she stopped herself, smiling now. (What are their names?)

One of his stalk eyes gazed over at the other two Andalites. Conversing silently, looks of determination changed to looks of disgust.

He breathed, waving his stalk eyes apologetically, closing his eyes in shame as the other two Andalites rolled their eyes and twitched their tails in frustration. (They are—)

(Traitor!) The shorter one shouted, bucking up on his hind legs. (With one simple defeat, you surrender all of your loyalty! Celebrity has gone to your thick skull, you deficient _vecol_!)

Terliss stood up slowly, rolling her stalk eyes in the direction of the interruption. She glanced back down at the doctor.

(I'm waiting,) she said.

(Trylast and Isstarim,) he choked out. The shorter one flung his tail blade forward, but the taller one put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

(Very good, Doctor. "Doctor Benedict Arnold," I think I'll call you. It will please your friends,) Terliss said, gloating a little to Nagrit, who shrugged with a smile. She looked at the two remaining uninfested Andalites. (And I don't like Andalite names, so I'll call you "Firecracker," and I'll call you…) She looked at the tall one, who gazed back with a pitying look on his face. Terliss looked away, suddenly terrible ashamed.

(But he looks familiar, doesn't he, Sub-Visser?) She gestured back to the doctor.

(Once we crack the computer, we can answer that question. Personnel records. Genealogies. All the private secrets Andalites have died to protect,) Nagrit said to all the Andalites. (We will find the things he is most unwilling to lose.)

"Sir," A Hork-Bajir entered the brig and looked at me with worry in his eyes.

(What is it?)

"There's, um, a problem. No. A development," he said.

Terliss sighed. (Where?)

"Follow me."

The Hork-Bajir led Nagrit and me down the hallway. Only a few doorways away from the Dome, he stopped at the entrance to a small set of quarters.

"He...well he didn't say anything at first. We were joking while we infested him, talking about where we'd retire if we found Jennor ourselves. I said the Elysian nebula, but Terkix here…well, it doesn't matter. We were just breaking the tension. He was awake, staring at the ground. He was quiet. We weren't sure if he was just having trouble infesting his host, or what, but then he spoke up. He...he told us he needed to speak with you right away. We told him to wait, but he insisted, and then finally he told us why, and I came down here as fast as—"

(What does Jennor have to do with any of this?)

The Hork-Bajir looked like he was about to cry. "Please don't get angry," he said.

(What have you done?) She asked. She looked back at Nagrit, whose devoted brown eyes were now engulfed by curiosity.

(Open the door,) she ordered. The Hork-Bajir bowed his head and complied.

His back was turned when I entered, but even then it was hard to mistake. Tan, aged, stone-like skin covered muscles earned through such hardship and pain that they'd never atrophy. Still so big, his tail was long and heavy, his medieval tail blade hovered motionless over his head. He turned a stalk eye slowly, moving as irresistibly and decisively as the glaciers and tectonic plates he seemed composed of. He was massive, unmovable. A planet. Terliss stared back in shock.

(Now this is a position I never thought I'd see you in,) he said in his quiet, controlled voice.

Terliss didn't respond for a moment, but then gasped, (Likewise.)

He turned around, each step sending an earthquake through the floor, and his face, which had aged since the last time I saw him, still punctuated by that terrible diagonal scar, smiled down at me. (I take it there are gaps to be filled, ma'am?) he asked.

(Yes, everything,) Terliss gasped incoherently. (I want to know everything.)

He shifted again, a mountain range, the spark that incites a celestial event, an impending natural disaster. And then, in an act entirely unsuited to him, Jennor's father laughed.


	26. Chapter Sixteen: Jennor

Chapter Sixteen

Jennor

PART ONE OF TWO

I always felt strange now. Knots twisted and untangled in my gut. Shame burned through the back of my neck, my shoulders, and shins. I was always on my guard, always feeling like something just beyond my line of sight was going to get me.

I gazed over at the controls from my limited view on the ground. So easy just to touch the communications panel and dial up my father. Easy, and shameful and cowardly. Easy and yet, so impossible.

(Are you still cold?) Trainer asked, always looking out the view screen, always preventing me from my ultimate goal.

(Yes, sir,) I said absent-mindedly, knotting my fingers together in a futile attempt to evict and relocate the tightening, twisting sensation from my stomach.

(Give me one moment,) he said, logging out of the computer and retreating to his quarters. I didn't watch him as he walked by. I hadn't looked him in the eye in weeks.

He came back with a thin thermal blanket, genuflected before me, and wrapped it around my shoulders. Immediately I felt its perfect reflection retransmit all the heat dissipated from my body. I grasped its edges with my fingers, pulled it close. Trainer bowed down so he could gaze into my face.

(Better, no?) He asked. I nodded, looking away. (Come, Jennor, look to me,) he said, touching my face with his warm fingers. I wanted to pull away, but I obeyed the slight pressure they offered my cheekbone and looked into his eyes.

Cold midnight burned with Dracon fire. Supernovas eons before they collapse into black holes. Lightning in the west.

He gently stroked the skin on my cheek, though his grip was not weak. I'd bargained this away. It wasn't painful. And though it had been happening for so long, it wasn't comfortable, either. I could imagine much more painful forms of torture, but somehow, it was worse than any of those things.

(I will bring happiness to those eyes,) he vowed. (We will fight in grand battles, Jennor, and we will win. Yeerks will bow before our awesome power. You will stand, conqueror of them all.)

I attempted a smile. Maybe then he'd leave me alone.

It had been four more years. I was nearly a decade old. Almost all of that time had been devoted to space travel. We'd stopped at outposts occasionally, getting news from Andalites who had direct access to the intelligence grid. Trainer censored much of it from me. We'd run into a couple of battles, but they were nothing spectacular. Rogue Bug Fighters and Andalite fighters accidentally brushing up against each other's scanning radii. Obligated by mutual hate, we engaged. These were not battles I actually participated in. Trainer told me to go to my quarters while he took care of flying the ship and managing weapons. I asked if he would teach me to fly and shoot. It was clear he was at least proficient, if not eloquent, in the language of space battle. He told me I was not yet old enough.

Not old enough to learn, fight, or live, it seemed. Any time we met any other Andalites, I morphed into Cristex. I'd spent enough time in his form to accommodate myself with it completely. I always asked Trainer if I looked older, if I'd spent enough time as the male cadet to physically age. Trainer laughed at my concerns. I asked when it would be all right for me to meet other Andalites as myself. Trainer always said, (A few more years,) but I didn't think he meant it. I think he was more ashamed of the fact I was a female than the fact I was still a child. That was something I could not mature away.

There wasn't much to do on the ship. Every morning, I reviewed tail fighting forms and did what little exercise I could in the tiny space. I couldn't come to terms with my claustrophobia. I spent much of my time with eyes closed, imagining I was home, but sometimes panic would overtake me and Trainer would have me sedated.

Afternoons were less structured. I spent most of them reading. This was the only contact with the ship's controls I was allowed. The Academy of Sciences and the Arts offered many lessons through the intelligence grid. I downloaded as many new lessons as I could whenever we reached an outpost. I read literature, learned math and astronomical physics, spent some time studying military strategy, and much reveling in what Trainer called "mindless propaganda." Trainer told me that I'd never catch up to my peers, that thinking for myself was a waste of energy, that I was designed for another purpose. I didn't want to catch up. I just wanted a distraction from the limited space in the ship, from my own fear and unworthiness, from…other things. I distracted myself other ways, too: I downloaded children's games, a holographic serial called "Pollirim and the magical _estreen"_ that I quite enjoyed, and of course, every back issue of _The Warrior Chronicles _that had been released since our last contact.

Distracting myself, however, was only one of my goals.

I had an ulterior motive at the ship's controls. It had taken years, but I had finally accepted that every excuse Trainer gave me for not allowing me to call my father was a deflection. He never intended me to touch the controls of the ship. I would never learn to fly or shoot, I would never talk to anyone other than him. At least not while he was aware.

I traded the stalk eye always reserved for me with one always reserved for him. He knew I stared, but he did not seem to mind. When I smiled, he smiled. It did not take much to defeat his suspicions.

Unlike me, he could not see my true intentions.

I watched him carefully, obsessively as I learned. He trained me unwittingly in what buttons to push to communicate. I learned to fly the ship and use every device on the panel through simple voyeurism. I had seen the first six digits of his thirteen-digit password, verified them, and memorized them. I'd gathered the rest, of course, though two of the digits were partially blocked from view by his body. After enough careful observation, I could deduce what they were.

Unfortunately, the password was only one component of gaining access to the communications panel. A voice print, retina scan, and memory scan were all required as well. I'd acquire him for the retina scan. The voice print would take work, but I could fake it. The memory scan required different preparation entirely.

Fortunately, convincing Trainer to engage in this preparation was not difficult. Since accessing his memory of my near death, I touched his cheek on a regular basis. This, in itself, wasn't so terrible. I'd done it with Terenia and felt no shame or disgust about it then. But then again, Terenia hadn't insisted on touching me in return, hadn't withheld herself if I didn't offer something to compensate. And when Terenia did touch me, it wasn't with that strange, slimy fascination, that reigned-in excitement that threatened to overtake him…He wasn't just touching me. He was caressing me. When I pressed my cold hands to his temples, I pretended to enjoy it like he did. I had an unachieved goal in mind. Despite my discomfort, it was necessary. I needed to keep telling myself this.

His memories, for the most part, were unlike Terenia's. Terenia seemed to view everything as it was—she did not judge the things that happened to her. Maxims helped her to cope with this; often she said things to me like "life sucks, then you die" or "the only certain things are death and taxes." Trainer, conversely, viewed things as they could be. Each memory was shaded with what had been done wrong, what could have been done better, what could still be fixed. He was self-loathing and totally ambitious. Everything that was not perfect was a failure upon which he worked to improve. I was his latest undertaking.

Of course, his failures were not only professional. Much of his thought was devoted to a girl he knew, a few years younger than him. He seemed to love her. She seemed familiar.

He asked me one day what I thought of her.

(She is beautiful,) I said diplomatically.

He seemed troubled by my answer. His eyes were worried. (Yes, she is,) he responded softly. (She is a lot like you.)

I shrugged. It made sense that he fixated on people with similar traits.

In order to accelerate the process of uncovering the memories he used as his combination, I subtly reminded him of my desire to speak to my father during these intimacies. He laughed me off, but sometimes a quick succession of memories resembling a combination emerged—brother suns, _Garibah_, Blade Ship, tail-blade shaped mountain—but then he'd stop. Distract himself, jerk away. I never seemed to get far enough.

This was the work I did as we traveled.

One week later, Trainer informed me that he was sick of Zero Space and had discovered a new system that required our help. When we finally reached our second destination, I didn't want to watch our descent to whatever planet or moon he'd chosen to condemn us to. I was losing enthusiasm for fighting.

When I glanced at the expansive asteroid below us, my breath was taken away.

From far away it appeared uninhabited. A broad, flat, gray rock that, miniaturized, would be a perfect skipping stone. There were a greater-than-average number of armed sentry ships and heavy artillery drones in orbit, but other than that, it was barren. I was about to ask why they were there when we penetrated the deflector shield, a sort of static-snow disruption on the viewscreens and mild turbulence that vibrated beneath my hooves.

Very abruptly, a vast community was evident before us.

Even more populated than the planetary system we'd briefly visited, the sparkling, gray asteroid was covered with Andalite life. The flat surface seemed to be divided into thirds. The first was largest and most obvious. Directly in the middle, like a vibrant, shielded heart, was a large ecodome covering a perfectly manicured slice of the homeworld that made my eyes misty. I craved moist grass. I hated drinking out of a bucket. A giant shipyard covered the easternmost portion of the rock, filled with parked fighters. Open transports whizzed down the rows and up the columns in makeshift traffic routes, automated so they crossed in front of each other with inches to spare, a giant, mechanized loom weaving hover trails.

The closer we advanced, the more details emerged, lovely and desirable. Young men bucked around, playing with each other, tapping their tail blades together in jest. Groups of high-ranking military officials trotted around seriously, discussing grave hypotheticals. Despite the size of the asteroid, gravity seemed normal, but I didn't want to waste the precious few seconds of this view searching for the field generator. The final third of the asteroid consisted of rows and rows of army scoops, camouflaged in shades of gray and silver, lining the dusty surface in slightly curved patterns to account for the oblong shape of the asteroid. Andalites milled and ambled and strutted normally. Relaxed. No one wore oxygen masks. There was air. I was disturbed by how happy that made me.

Trainer gained landing clearance and parked in the lot, kicking clouds of dust into the air. A young _aristh_, stepping out of a transport, met us once we disembarked. I morphed to Cristex, hating the blindness it caused me.

(Welcome to the Anati system,) the cadet said boredly, eyeing Trainer and I. (Do you have any special training that could be of use here?)

(No,) Trainer said. (Just combat.)

(Very well. Report to the acquisitions tent. You're in luck, we're attacking Inner Asteroid 42 tomorrow.)

Trainer and I walked across the dusty landscape, hooves closed and diaphragms tight. The air was thin and wispy and prickly with dust. We passed some Andalites on the way, realizing that they wore force field medical masks over their nostrils which kept all of the microscopic particles out of their lungs. Trainer put a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, seeing that one of his hands was over his nose, a primitive filter that would work for the time being. He nodded seriously to me, indicating that I should do the same.

Once we arrived at the acquisitions tent, I felt like a chair or delivery that was constantly in the way. Andalites brushed past Trainer and me, who would move to accommodate them, only to block the path of someone else. Finally shuffling me into a corner, Trainer signed the volunteer papers and we made our way to our new scoop.

The scoops were broad and flat and deep, unlike my scoop on Andal. Most of our scoop at home was exposed to the suns, so the dense, moist grass and flowers could grow, and the inside of the scoop was the dark part, covered with leather flooring, containing Father's few possessions. Here, it was like a large, flat-bottomed bowl covered by a shallowly pitched canvas. The entrance was like a grinning mouth, covered by an unfurled sheet. Surprisingly and frighteningly primitive. Trainer pulled back the sheet and stepped inside.

The inside was unfurnished, except for a long, hovering table that split the circle in half. A force field projector sat on top of the table, suspending the canvass in the air. Trainer claimed the side opposite of the entrance. I sighed, testing the ground with my hooves. Flat. Dense. The dust must have been treated with some chemical or process that kept it compacted. I felt my shins wobble. I was already hungry, and we'd departed our ship less than twenty minutes before.

We had little time to unpack and get settled. Fortunately, neither of us had much besides what we were wearing—I was allowed to wear my armed holster all the time now—but soon, a young Prince came to our tent and gave us our assignment for the battle the next day.

(Why are you a little girl?) He asked me.

(He sleeps better that way. It's his sister,) Trainer explained, grimacing at himself. The Prince did not look totally convinced, but didn't push the matter.

I didn't sleep very well that night at all.

We hadn't met many people, and we hadn't seen much of the asteroid, but the magnitude of what we were about to do weighed heavily on my mind. The entire field was at stake. Trainer explained it to me briefly—the field separated a full planet bearing a sentient, infestable race occupied by Andalite force, and a barren planet that served as the Yeerks' local base. If they took the asteroid field, they could mount an attack on the inhabited planet. If the Andalites took the field, the race was safe.

(What does the species look like?) I asked, exfoliating my tail blade with a buffing tool.

(Why does that matter?)

I paused. (I don't know,) I sighed quickly in surrender.

Trainer huffed and looked out of the entrance of the scoop. He liked to keep the sheet furled, so anyone who wanted to visit didn't feel unwelcome. Piles and wriggling snakes of dust had already migrated inside. That also meant I had to stay hidden, always clinging to the edge of the scoop.

(No one knows what they look like, Jennor.)

(Why not?)

(They send automated messages every two days. Communiqués, updates, even some literature and music, when they're feeling generous. They are a strictly religious species, and part of their beliefs keep them from inviting the "impure" onto the surface of their planet. At first, we thought that only meant the Yeerks, but it turns out they don't like any extra-terrestrial visitors. Contaminants. Plagues. They're a deeply paranoid race, apparently with very poor auto-immune systems.)

I stared at him sadly, thinking for a moment. (How can we even be sure they're down there at all?)

Trainer looked shocked for a moment, then mildly pleased. (We can't. Scans indicate that there is an industrialized civilization on the planet, and the scans are incredibly precise and specific. We can see what percentages of what compounds they mine from their planet and what method they use to do so, what nutrition is evident in the crops that they harvest, what fertilizers they use in their irrigation. Pollution in the atmosphere, infant mortality rates, migration patterns. The only proof intelligence officials have that we're actually saving anybody is that the scans are too immense to fake.)

(So this could all be a very well thought-out, detailed deception?)

Trainer was a proud Andalite who did not enjoy acknowledging the potential weaknesses of his race, but he maintained a healthy level of realism and doubt.

(I advise you not to think about it. Follow your orders and stay alive. Those are your two objectives here, no?)

Our mission was to protect a purely hypothetical race by ensuring the security of a bunch of floating rocks.

Like the last planet, most of the combat was automated, slow, and remote. A great majority of the asteroids were already claimed, each covered with Dracon Cannons or Ionic Dispersion Blasters and their automatic targeting systems, each taking any possible opportunity to destroy passing transports or shoot at targets that came within range as the field slowly revolved. A large computer buried deep underground somewhere on the base asteroid calculated what unclaimed asteroids were currently in range of the Yeerk's weapons, which routes would be safest to take transports through, which asteroids would be possible to target. Claiming the remaining asteroids was meant to be stealth work. Diversions, sneak attacks, espionage. Of course, the Yeerks had a similar hidden targeting computer and similar tactics, and we always ended up secretly claiming the same asteroids at the same time.

That is what required the presence of ground soldiers. These micro-skirmishes, these simultaneously accidental and presupposed sneak attacks would be performed by Trainer and me.

There wasn't exactly a sunrise to tell us what time to wake up—the asteroids were small enough that light filtered and reflected so it was always daytime. Climate control machines maintained the temperature at 55 degrees Fahrenheit, the relative humidity at 16%, and regulated the air composition so it mimicked Andal's. Day and night were obsolete distinctions. I blamed most of my insomnia on that. Trainer touched my shoulder and brushed my face and we made our way down to get organized.

I'd been an _aristh_ for nearly six years now. Though I should have overcome any nerves by this point, I felt completely obliterated by fear. I had no war experience. Most of the period of my service had been in transit, floating around in space, unguided by rule or order, hidden from true combat. The briefest moment I had spent with an actual mission had ended catastrophically. How could I do this?

The only thing I could think to do was look to Trainer for guidance. He'd been in battles before, but his advice was incomprehensible.

(The dark-eyed monster will grab you tight, Jennor. If you can't feel when he grabs you, then he'll never let go.)

Though the time before a life-changing event feels limitless, it never is, and soon it was time to march to the rendezvous point.


	27. Chapter Sixteen: Part Two

PART TWO OF TWO

Trainer and I had received our force field masks now, and breathed air that almost tasted normal. Dust kicked up around my hooves and gave my skin a dry, chalky feel. We boarded a transport filled with other men, all much older than my teenaged morph, and made our way to Inner Asteroid 42.

Inner Asteroid 42 was one of the smaller asteroids in the field, but its position was tactically perfect. Shielded by two large, fan-shaped asteroids orbiting it, and positioned closest to the inhabited planet, either side that won Inner Asteroid 42 would have a perfect base to launch an offensive and, with some audacity and luck, take the rest of the field.

The trip was short but memorable. The transport was covered with a shimmery force field that kept what little oxygen we had in our lungs. I got a close-up look of true veterans. Scars covered many of them, inerasable due to the psychological magnitude of the wounds that caused them. Eyes were misty and deep. Their shoulders were broad, and they breathed deeply despite the nearly palpable tension. I tried to emulate them, but I couldn't muster the resolve. They were practiced at the art of fear. One looked at me with deeply blue, unreadable eyes. He smiled, ready to say something, but stayed silent. I wished I could read his mind.

We landed soon on Inner Asteroid 42, where a caravan of transports was landing, unloading, and taking off like an assembly line. They shuttled back to the surface of the base asteroid to pick up more troops. We reported to the acquisitions tent, and Trainer made sure we stayed as far away from the front lines as we could.

(Not for our first go-around,) he said to me. (You'll see enough horror of war today.)

Then we waited.

It took hours of clawing, gnawing fear for things to get underway. Every two hours I had to slink away to remorph. It was only then, as my real self, that I felt overwhelmed. Everyone's fear reverberated in my mind like pinging sonar. I could hear selfish prayers, hopeless soliloquies, desperate rationalizing. I thought I had just been weak, feeling that way, but it seemed everyone dealt with it differently. I tried not to listen, but the feeling was so loud, so impossible to ignore. I morphed back as quickly as I could.

Soon, we lined up. There was no going back now. Trainer got us a spot near the back of the battalion, ready to fill in and die in case everyone else died in front of us. I swept my stalk eyes around, fear taking root and growing like some plant in fast-forward.

Trainer was talking and laughing with a small group of warriors, paying little attention to me. His stalk eye even broke contact a few times. He was having fun. I was terrified.

Then I saw him. The fear washed away, replaced with curiosity.

A Hork-Bajir.

I'd never seen one in real life before. Only holographic projections, idealized and pristine, strong and smug. This could not be a real Hork-Bajir. He was tall, lanky. Skinny. Undernourished. His blades were dull, and the skin around them was raw and bloody. Ribs protruded through his flanks. His reptilian lips were parched, cracked. An animal-like fear flitted behind his eyes. Like a stray _djabala_ or a pack of mangy hoobers. He couldn't tell I saw him. He was far away, stooped over, watching.

I was amazed he had gotten so close. Automated targeting systems couldn't detect him, since this asteroid was not yet outfitted, but surely someone had scanning equipment, some kind of…

I looked at his waist. A long antenna sprung from some small device attached to his holster. Jamming equipment.

He was a scout.

I turned around and kept low, keeping an eye on him. He was hidden behind a large, jagged rock that broke up through the ground like a skeleton's mangled hand. I scooped handfuls of dust into my hands and rubbed it into my fur. Splashed it on my face like water. Covered my body with it. Deadened and camouflaged my bright blue fur as best I could.

I kept low, hidden. Crawled along the ground, hiding behind drifts of dust and any fortunate rock formation that met my path. Prayed that a cloud of dust I disturbed wouldn't give me away. I reached a rock directly across from where he was hidden. He was stooped over, trying to get his communicator to work.

I pulled my Shredder from my holster carefully, gently. Set the dial to kill. Raised it, and pointed it at the unsuspecting Yeerk.

Then I paused.

I was about to kill him. And he didn't know I was here. He would die, maybe without even knowing it, if my shot in practice was as good as it was in theory.

Dying without realizing it was one of my biggest fears.

(Yeerk,) I said, without any real force behind it. He turned to look up at me. Then his eyes went slack, losing the fear and tension, and he wailed to the sky.

I pulled the trigger.

I'd turned the dial up too high. The beam broke through the Hork-Bajir, splattering the rock he was hiding behind with blood and viscera, and hit the rock itself, shattering the structure. The thing came down with a crash, sending dust and rock high into the air.

I stared at the scene as it settled for some time. The rocks fell over the Hork-Bajir and buried him. I gave him the only private eulogy he'd ever receive:

(Sorry,) I whispered.

(Are you trying to make me look like a fool?) Trainer stomped over, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to my hooves. (Why did you do that? You just gave our position away to every Yeerk within a 10-mile radius!)

(He was going to do that anyway,) I said, pointing over to the rock formation. Three Andalites were already hovering around it, a single Hork-Bajir hand exposed beneath the debris.

(Oh,) was all Trainer could manage to say, and he watched me with that single stalk eye, a new judgment there now.

We had sent scouts of our own.

Those returned.

Trainer and I got to leave the battle early. This relieved me greatly, not only because I hadn't quite figured out what I would do if the battle lasted more than two hours, but because my besting of the Hork-Bajir hadn't done anything to calm my nerves. I was more nervous than ever. Death had occurred almost effortlessly. A twitch of my finger had decided the rest of his life.

I wans't paying close attention as Trainer and I returned to our scoop. The community thriving with Andalite life was now a ghost town. We were the only Andalites around.

(You can demorph, Jennor,) he said as we settled in. Once I was back in my normal state, I could read him so easily. He was disappointed. He gazed down at me with something like confusion, misunderstanding. I didn't know why.

(Did I do something wrong, sir?) I asked him after a few minutes, as the feelings continued to amplify.

(Of course not, Jennor. You're the hero of the day.) There was a quality to his voice that made me uncomfortable. Sarcasm? Rage? Something insincere and foreboding.

(I feel...) I began, uncertain about how to confront him. But then his eyes went glassy and silent.

(No, Jennor. _I _feel. You feel nothing about this. It's sick. You just killed a man!)

(I killed a Yeerk,) I corrected, growing confused and angry. What was he accusing me of?

(You shot him like it was nothing. Like you were cleaning your fur or polishing your holster.)

(It was—) I began, but he cut me off.

(You are cold, Jennor, to speak like that. Don't be. Be the warm creature I know is under those sheets of ice. Be someone loving, someone empathetic, someone tender. Be more like your mother.)

I felt my mind wipe clean.

(You knew her,) I barely whispered. I meant it as a question, but the truth was already apparent.

(I didn't mean for this to happen. Not so soon. You're still so young,) he said, turning around, filled with regret. (This was meant to be so different.)

I shook my head slowly for a long time. Trainer stood with his back to me, one arm crossed, rubbing his jaw in deep thought.

I'd never been forced to think about her before. I didn't even know I was supposed to have a mother until Terenia first mentioned it. She was sorry, but I didn't understand why, because the thought of losing her had never even occurred to me. I'd simply never had one. Father had never spoken of her. Had he? If he had, it had been under the strictest implication that the matter never be brought up again. I'd kept it from my mind, but now every question that should have always been floating around like a single cloud marring a perfect sky descended upon me like a storm.

Who was she? What did she look like? How did Trainer know her? Why had Father refused to speak about her? What had she done? What had happened to her? What had killed her?

I opened my mind and read Trainer again. Carefully, acutely. He was still blocking me, but for the first time I discovered that with enough force, I could break through. It was not comfortable to probe so invasively; I could feel the strain on my tendons, my spine. The need outweighed the shame associated with intruding. I could break through so deeply that I could see almost as clearly as I would if I was touching him. It took every shred of concentration. I strained my mind to the brink. How far could I push it? How long could I hold it?

He was thinking of her.

_Of course_, I thought as a faded memory, unfocused and faint, passed through his mind. I'd seen her before. The girl he kept on his nightstand. The girl he thought of when touching my face. _She is a lot like you,_ I remembered with a scoff. He looked at me.

(Are you satisfied?) He snapped.

(How was this meant to be different, sir?) I asked in reference to his previous statement, straightening my spine.

His eye narrowed and he smiled. (You weren't supposed to kill anyone,) he said.

(I am an _aristh. _That is my purpose.)

(Your purpose is to follow orders,) he responded, rage burning in his black eyes.

He turned back around, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He advanced slowly, tail twitching eagerly, eyes hungry with something.

(What happens when I give you an order, Jennor?) He asked, a wicked smile spreading through his eyes. Sadness flooded from his mind. A new resolve replaced it. He had a new plan. Something that made him giddy with anticipation.

Something told me to choose my words carefully. (If it is reasonable, I follow it.)

(Reasonable,) he laughed. (What is more reasonable than granting a man's greatest desire?)

He continued advancing upon me until I backed up to the dirt wall of the scoop. He grabbed my face hard in his stiff fingers, nails cutting down into my skin. I whimpered and grabbed his hands, trying to pry them off.

(Feel that, Jennor? Feel how warm?) He was stronger than me. In a flash, he grabbed my wrists and expanded his arms outward, forcing me right up against him. The muscles under his skin clenched and unclenched, gears and pistons in some vicious, murderous machine. His breathing was rapid and unforgiving.

All of his sadness seemed to flow, morph into fear, and infect me. My fur stood on end. My tail rose high into the air, twitching with desperate energy. But I froze. Out of duty, out of shock, I didn't know why, but I simply could not find the drive to fight him off.

(This was supposed to happen much, much later,) he lamented, drawing my struggling arms behind his back. (Never knew that something like "good at foiling plans" was a trait that could be passed down. Hold them there for now.)

(Sir, what—)

(Silence is your order, _aristh_. Is that unreasonable?)

I closed my main eyes and buried my face in his foreign, burning chest. _Let this nightmare end,_ I begged nothing. (No,) I responded.

(Good.) For a few minutes, he held me there, tight against his body, hands traveling down my sides, over my arms, across my face.

(Your hands are cold all the way to your elbow,) he said with a strange laugh. (I never would have known.) Finally his hands came to rest at the base of my back, and as he worked the flesh there, sparks and shocks that weren't quite painful but as far from comfort as pain formed and wandered down my spine and dripped down my ribs, accumulating in some reservoir deep within my hindquarters.

He cupped my face in his hands and lifted it to his eye line as my breath rattled and gasped in my chest. Dark eyes, full of hate. Hate for me. Hate for her. Hate for himself.

(Turn around and put your hands against the wall, Jennor. Reasonable, no?) He asked.

I pulled my arms away from his waist. The undersides were warm now. They were rigid, tight, like my breath, like my tail. I was exhausted. Defeated. I stepped back away from him, avoiding eye contact. Slick with slime and disgust.

I closed my stalk eyes, but I could still hear the rampant thoughts rushing through his mind. Elation. Glee. Unchecked happiness, nearly manic. A part of me could see his intentions, his plans, his fantasies, and that part could extrapolate what the reality was going to be. A part of me would never admit to it. But all of me was sick with fear. That same feeling I had felt on the first day of training. Prickly electricity in my face, heavy nausea weighing me down. A feeling I had ignored from pride. A feeling I'd ignored because I wanted to please my father.

I turned around and put my hands against the curved, dirt wall. I felt one of his hands at the base of my tail, rubbing the underside. I was whooping with glee.

No, I wasn't.

(Sir, someone's coming,) I breathed too fast. He laughed.

(Be a warrior, Jennor, not a coward.)

(Best little _aristh_ in the field!) A voice cried out not too far away.

Shock froze every flame of happiness in his mind. He nearly bounded away from me.

(Morph, you insolent half-wit,) he growled. I obeyed.

Just as my tail blade stiffened into the hard, male version and my sight completely left me, a group of warriors from the battle earlier that day entered our scoop.

(There he is!) The same voice broke out. (Won us a battle today, didn't you?)

He bounded over to me and slapped me on the back, bucking like an untrained colt. Our scoop was only minimally furnished, or else he would have destroyed the whole thing. His tail, flinging out of control, put three gashes through the roof.

I loved him for it.

(Settle down,) Trainer said, clapping him on the shoulder, raising his tail. His seriousness was easily mistaken as facetious. Only I could see the contemptuous look he gave the young soldiers.

(Aww, you old hard-edge! Let your _aristh_ be a hero!) A second celebrant sang out. (We're going to play some driftball to celebrate. Rumor is even War-Prince Porrolack is going to watch!)

The other two warriors howled in laughter.

(Can you imagine him swiping a driftball?) One laughed. (You can't play driftball with a stiff metal rod holding up your tail!) They cackled together.

I looked at Trainer. He was furious.

(I suppose one game would be acceptable,) he said with obvious restraint. (_Aristh. _I expect you back in no more than an hour. We have business to finish.)

(Yes, sir,) I responded. I was glad I was male, for the first time ever. I was sure I'd crumple if I could feel the clashing, polarized emotions coming from so many different sources, mingling with my own despair.

I'd never played driftball before. It was not difficult to learn, like most good games, but impossible to master. I could have benefited from my sight, I suppose, but I performed adequately without it.

I almost had fun. I scored two goals and blocked one from the opposing side. I would have enjoyed it, if not for the knowledge of what was about to occur.

That game became very significant. That was the last game I ever played as a child. Somehow, through six years of war, I had maintained my innocence. Was it because I hadn't killed anyone, like Trainer suggested? Was it because my ability had remained an untapped secret? Or was it because Trainer had kept me that way, waiting, biding his time, until he unleashed all of the nightmares and horrors he'd hidden away onto me?

None of those seemed like good enough explanations. It was something deeper, more personal. A foundational, unchangeable flaw that I recognized. I finally felt like I had failed at something that couldn't be fixed. My life was no longer a series of mistakes and lessons. This event, this mistake would define everything that followed.

I went back to the scoop after an hour. The War-Prince had come, played, and even smiled. He touched my tail blade with his and congratulated my "wicked eye." I thanked him for his kindness.

I had considered running away, but I knew I wasn't smart enough for that. He would find me, no matter where I ran. Even if I ran home. He was so much smarter than me. That's why he won. That's why the game was over.

I entered the scoop and he was standing, waiting for me. I demorphed without an order. Walked over to my previous position against the dusty, curved wall. He unfurled the sheet at the front of the scoop and followed me.

(Hands up against the wall, no?) He said.

* * *

**A/N: On that note, I'd like to make a quick announcement. I've stuck to a pretty consistent schedule, mostly for myself, just so I have a routine to answer to. It's partially been for you guys, too, just so you can expect when you'll be getting a new chapter. Sixteen weeks in a row with new chapters: not going to lie, I'm pretty proud of that. Unfortunately, I have to break my perfect record next week. I'm taking a trip for the first time in a long time, and hopefully I'll be doing fun trip stuff. So I'm taking a week off. I will return two weeks from today, but I guess this little break will just give everyone a chance to catch up and...stew. After that, I'd really love to go back to my once-a-week routine, but I plan on making some big life changes that will take lots of time and provide questionable access to the internet, so I can't make any promises. However, the promise I made in the prologue still stands: I _will_ finish this. It would be kind of dumb to post upwards of 90,000 words of something and then just abandon it anyway, wouldn't it?**

**I'd also like to take this opportunity to thank my three reviewers, who I'm about 90% sure are the only ones who read this anymore, lol. But honestly, I'm not bitter or upset about that at all, because your feedback is just so awesome that I'm perfectly content updating solely for you guys.**

**metamorphstorm: Thank you so much for being so consistent and positive in your reviews. I always get this terrible, self-defeatist feeling of dread right after I post a chapter, like "this is the one that's going to make them turn on me," so the fact that you review so quickly after I post, and always with a reassuring tone, really lets me keep my sanity. Thank you so much for sticking through it this far. You really don't know how much that means. Incidentally, I hope this isn't the one that makes you turn on me :x**

**voodooqueen126: Thank you for writing such well thought-out, critical reviews. I will admit that you make me a little nervous and self-conscious, but you're always honest, which is a very useful thing for a reviewer to be. The level of your criticism, and the depth to which you think about the issues I introduce, really force me to re-evaluate the details I add and what they really mean and do for the narrative. The things you bring up have actually made me alter the progression of this a little bit, and reviews that actively improve my writing are the absolute best I could hope to get. Thank you so much for being so hard on this. **

**Birdie num num: Gah! You don't know how frustrated I get that you never sign in when you review, because so many times I've wanted to scream "YES YES YES" in response to some observation you make. You're the only one who makes guesses about where this is going, and that is so great to see, because you're right a lot of the time. Not all of the time. I think I can still surprise you. But the fact that you're involved in this and thinking about it really makes me feel like I'm doing this right. At least partially. I hope I'm not being too obvious, but...eh, I won't worry about it too much. Thanks so much for caring enough to make guesses :)  
**

**Also, if you've been reading and haven't been reviewing, thank you for sticking with this so far. It will get better. Or at least less bleak. I think.  
**


	28. Chapter Seventeen: Ax

Chapter Seventeen

Aximili

PART ONE OF FOUR

Jennor stood above me, smug in her dominance. He unlatched the trick handcuff and launched it at her face.

(NOOOOO!)

He'd waited for the perfect moment, and there was nothing I could do. I strained every effort, used every brain cell just to lock up my arms and weaken the blow. It was useless. The hard, metal ring struck her square in the temple and she stumbled backward.

(Still conscious!) I squealed in delight.

(It doesn't matter,) the Yeerk laughed in my head. (We're already gone.)

He bent over to tear off the duct tape that held my feet together. The bloody ring of the trick handcuffs hung off my right wrist. It impeded his effort, and he held back the latch which unlocked the mechanism. I felt a melting wave of foolishness wash over me again.

I'd screamed at her for hours. My lungs ached and I hadn't even used them. I'd screamed at her and she couldn't hear me.

_The handcuffs aren't real! The handcuffs aren't real!_

Andalites had always thought the concept of magic was silly, the way humans think it is "adorable" that children believe in the specter named "Santa Claus." Some species we met clung to its belief, denying the coldly predictable nature of the universe. Humans, for the most part, seemed to recognize its futility, which caused me to wonder why such a product as a "magic kit" was available. During one particular visit to the mall for a delicious Cinnabon, Tobias and I had passed a magic shop. At first scoffing at it, I realized that human magic included a very important element that I'd been too quick to recognize.

Escapism.

The ability to break free from bondage.

The skill seemed too relevant to ignore, and I had Tobias buy me the kit. I hoped there was some relationship between the handcuffs and Yeerk infestation, some skill that could be taught to humans to avoid enslavement.

No. Petty tricks and distractions. Sleight of hand. Nothing noteworthy. I should have thrown all of it away. If I had, I never would have gotten myself into this mess.

Following her had been foolish and unforgivable. I'd earned the punishment I'd received. _What happened to the curious cat, Aximili? Why practice Earth idioms if you meant never to employ them?_

Curiosity had not only given my Yeerk the opportunity to escape, but it had caused the infestation in the first place. My foolishness had led me to be infested by an overly ambitious, vengeful Yeerk named Perflit 244.

He'd penetrated me like a slimy, silver tongue. Pushing, thrusting, forcing his way inside. Down that tight canal, scraping his way deeper. Painful friction, no pain-killing, lubricant agent released. Not for Andalite scum like me. I'd begged and pleaded, resisted and fought. No power. Absolutely no escape.

He shot his own Hork-Bajir, down in the Yeerk Pool, putting his Dracon Beam into my unconscious hands before disengaging himself from his host. Then he sauntered out, puffed-up with all of the valuable, volatile knowledge in my brain, and returned to the scoop.

Not to Visser Three, or to the Animorph's homes, or even to arm himself for this dangerous chore. Instead, he confronted my prince without even indulging in the lethal effectiveness of my Andalite form. He knew that in Andalite form she could beat me, because I had already been beaten. The Yeerk had my memories, but what I didn't realize was that he could pair my memories with his own perception. He saw things I was too respectful and submissive to see. The way she pulled away, just slightly, whenever I approached her. The way she held herself—back straight, tail high, but every appendage pointed inward, as if she desired to collapse in on herself like a black hole. He saw what all of that meant. He saw that she was beatable, and he knew exactly how to do it.

(And that, dear host, is what you Andalites do not understand,) he laughed as he'd stepped up close behind her, as his fingers brushed against the curls of her hair. (The most desperate weaknesses are always the easiest to spot and the most tempting to ignore. You know it's true. Even this robotic female can be exploited.)

She'd beaten me anyway.

At least, for the time being.

To Yeerks, a host is not just a body. It is a tool, a manipulable thing with levers and pulleys and buttons that they can directly control. He sent false signals from my brain and charged up my sympathetic nervous system, a mechanism meant only to be engaged for short periods of time, keeping it running for hours. The fight or flight response, always fleeing, always fighting, and most importantly, constantly yearning. A human female was mere inches away and the Yeerk did not let my mating instincts, that raw, untapped energy, forget that. A new sharp ache right between my hip bones thumped every thirty seconds or so, each more crippling and powerful than the last. Adrenaline surged and coursed and ebbed and surged again. My muscles screamed in stressed pain. I was both utterly exhausted and completely alert. More than two days like this would kill me, but he kept the glands open.

And finally, that perpetual wariness had paid off.

The Yeerk had gotten through the duct tape. He ripped it off the cuffs of my jeans and stood up too quickly. Muscles and tendons locked into unnatural positions for longer than a day screamed in protest. It didn't matter. He could still get away before she got up.

He stumbled forward. Looked at the girl.

She was on her hands and knees, recovering.

The Yeerk paused.

Arms sprawled out in front of her, legs tucked tightly under her body, the Yeerk focused on her rear end, shoved up and out and exposed, the soft, twin hills it had been so long since he'd last visited, covered by white underwear stretched so far they became sheer. He paused, and stared, and began to plan.

His thoughts were as clear as mine, our minds intertwined and no longer separated. _It will appease this pathetic body, yes, but more importantly, it will pacify her, _he thought. _If she finds that she can't even protect herself from me, a half-starved, injured male form, she'll have no reason to fight back at all. I'll suck away whatever hope she has left. The glass is splintered and this will shatter her, I see it. I could put her in a stroller and wheel her back to the Yeerk Pool. It would be like subduing and infesting a lamb. And oh, how I'll be honored…_

The plan disgusted me, the fact he wanted to implement it through my body violated me, and the truth that I could do nothing to stop it enraged me, but the Yeerk had control of my body. And his plans powered up my glands, my instincts. Adrenaline and testosterone mingled, his imagination sent shivers down to my sensitive human groin. A sharp, horrible, irresistible instinct, so predatory and proactive compared to my mild Andalite libido. I could see his intentions. Yeerks are obsessed with domination. He'd already succeeded in obtaining a host, in penetrating the sovereignty and identity of a sentient individual.

And he was going to penetrate more.

Yes, he would grab each of her legs by the thigh, peel down that protective fabric, pull her tight up against him, shove himself in between whether she was prepared or not. Better if she's not, that makes it more satisfying and more effective, if it hurts her. If she squeals as he feels the flesh burn and twist and rub like sandpaper. He'd bend over her once he was inside, pin her down with my body, then focus on the little details, drive his fingers in her mouth and pull her lips back, bite the flesh on her shoulder until she bled. Hurt her, punish her for having the arrogant delusion that she could overpower him, that she could rescue me, that she could win. Yes, the stupid female must pay.

He stumbled forward, hands outreached, and I fought him, and struggled, but the day-old hormones infected me, and his sick plans drowned my brain, and his desire, the molten need and thunderous, yawing ache burned through me, and to my horror, I slowly began to agree. And this unfocused desire accumulated like thunderclouds, into a conscious thought, into a _suggestion_. A wordless whimper or groan that if translated to the vernacular would sound something like: (Grab her by the hair so she doesn't struggle.)

(Noble Andalite,) the Yeerk said in a strangely indifferent way.

My defection was complete, but short-lived. (No! No! No no no! Stop it! Let her go, I demand—) My cries devolved into wordless shouts and then into sobs.

I could have neutered myself with my own blade! So weak! Something as shallow and self-indulgent as lust, as _violent _lust, as _rape_ had defeated me. I'd betrayed my prince, my pride, my dignity, my very identity. Could I still call myself an Andalite warrior? A disciplined, dutiful, loyal _aristh_? No! I was a coward, a cad, no better than the Yeerk who infested me. What had I done? What level of scum could define me now?

Jennor pushed herself to her knees.

"No you don't," He growled through my spongy, swollen mouth. He limped over, one end of the handcuff stiff in his fist. He bent my arm behind my back, sprained shoulders snapping in place. Better to do it without resistance, get her unconscious first. Show her how powerless she really is. My eyes opened wide. Adrenaline screamed through my muscles. He readied the final blow.

Jennor looked up.

Blood dripping from a new gash on her cheekbone, she twisted around just as he brought the handcuff hard over her head. She caught my arm mid-strike, but the handcuff rotated down and sliced her again. An electric red gash erupted, cutting diagonally across her mouth, and she grabbed the other end of it with her opposite hand. Fingernails drilling into my skin, she yanked the handcuff forward, climbing to her feet, but the Yeerk wouldn't let go and stumbled forward from the force. Manic glee rolled through her eyes, and she kicked me hard with her heel. I felt a sudden, sharp pressure in my gut that forced all the iron-flavored air from my lungs.

(Let go, Yeerk,) she ordered.

"Never," he said, breathing in too hard. He coughed but held on.

He pulled her forward and grabbed one of her arms. Laughing, he spun her around in some sick, bloody dance. I smelled her, and she was foul, but something in her scent drew me closer, made me want her more. She pulled back, the handcuffs like the rope in a tug of war contest.

He spun more, pulling her forward, and she allowed herself to crumple into me. A spike of glee as the thought that she had surrendered overcame me. She kept one hand on the handcuff, but with the opposite, caught my neck from behind and drew my head forward. Teeth bared, she dove into my neck and clamped down as hard as she could.

"Agggrrhhh!" He cried out in surprise. Sharp, tearing pain charged through my neck. She clamped down harder, thrashing, blood flowing out of her mouth. I imagined what she was damaging, how deep she'd have to dig to slice my carotid. The Yeerk heard my thought, and in his distraction, he released the handcuff slightly.

She pulled away from my neck, leapt away from my body, tearing the handcuff away with her. Her mouth and chin were covered in my blood.

"No, wait—" the Yeerk started, but she was too tired and impatient to listen. With both hands gripping the handcuff, she swung it forward from over her head and cracked it down upon my skull. A moment of black, but I opened my eyes from a prostrate position on the ground.

_I _opened them.

"Prince, please—" I started, but she hit me again, covering me in darkness.

When I woke up, it was dark outside again. She had bound my limbs together with duct tape, a thick layer completely enveloping my forearms and calves. My mouth was uncovered. She must have run out of tape. It had been well over a day since my infestation.

Pain pulsed in my face with every heartbeat. The tender brightness of infection was taking hold of some of the more superficial wounds, while deep throbs signposted the significant ones. I ached everywhere. My face was swollen so badly that I was pretty sure I couldn't talk through my mouth even if I wanted to. Hunger rolled through my stomach. The Yeerk had control over glands that could relieve the pain. He did not employ them.

Blood still caked my face, now capped with thin plasmic discharge. Duct tape pulled skin into positions where it would heal unevenly. Tendons and bones were stretched to the limit, red and molten like something a blacksmith worked with. My head pulsed pain, some kind of living creature inside desperate to break free. The Yeerk's consciousness was variable.

Mine was not.

(You are not worth the trouble, Yeerk,) Jennor sighed, pressing a relieving cool rag against my face too hard.

(Jennor—) I said, but the Yeerk took that as his cue to wake up.

(That hurts, Jennor,) he laughed.

(Good,) she groaned nearly inaudibly.

(Just leave her alone,) I begged.

(You have lost your fight, Andalite. Good thing it takes your brothers longer than a day to give up. If all warriors were as weak as you, we would have won this war days after it began,) he responded.

(Brave words from someone who's been defeated twice. Scum like you cannot defeat me,) I growled, recharged, anger waxing.

(But scum like her sure could,) he laughed again, looking up at Jennor. The gashes on her face were gone. She was still wiping away my blood.

(I should congratulate you, Yeerk. You have sufficiently disfigured the _aristh_,) she sighed.

Wicked, vindictive laughter rang out in the clearing. (You're seriously going to blame this on _me_?) He asked.

(Your cooperation could have ended this entire fiasco quickly and painlessly,) Jennor responded.

(Yes, but I did not beat my inferior within an inch of his life. I didn't nearly strangle him to death. I didn't put a crack in his skull with a metal ring.)

(Necessary acts inspired by your resistance,) Jennor said.

(I don't know if all of this was _necessary_,) he said with a scoff, (But most of the things we really enjoy are superfluous.)

Jennor glared, still wiping away blood.

(And what is it you enjoy, Yeerk?) I asked, each word getting louder. (Do you enjoy losing battles? Do you enjoy these last few moments of your life?)

(I enjoy seeing the weakness in her,) he responded. (And you.)

(I enjoy the fact that you continue to fight though you have already lost.)

(Likewise.)

For no particular reason other than that my tolerance was spent, I felt rage roll through my mind like an oncoming train. Slow at first, accelerating with heat and force. The Yeerk sensed it. Set his mental stance to guard against it.

It exploded.


	29. Chapter Seventeen: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

(You pathetic little worm, do you know how helpless you are? How easy it is to defeat you? You couldn't defeat a snail in a foot race. My friends and I could morph hoobers and slice you to ribbons! You are nothing but scum and lard tied together with slime!)

Image and thought ran together in an inseparable stream. All of my frustrations, recent and historic, burned through my mind and crashed down upon him. Elfangor's resounding superiority. Father's clear preference for his elder son. The Animorphs' impatience and misunderstanding. Estrid's betrayal, Jennor's apathy. My own impotence.

The Yeerk laughed, though a nervous timbre ran through it.

(Do you realize how pathetic it is not only to aspire to enslave sentient, peaceful races, but to sexually exploit them? Do you know how most normal races would classify that behavior? As evil! Crimes punishable by death! The fact that all perverted Yeerks consider themselves their own liberators is delusion no one can match!)

(Your insults could use work,) he said.

(Greedy, manipulated, soulless, you're more a slave to yourself than I will ever be to you! I HATE YOU, YEERK! I HATE YOU! DEATH IS TOO GOOD AN END FOR YOU! Continue to beat me, Jennor, peel away my flesh until you get to his unholy little form! I would sacrifice myself _endlessly_ just to see justice be served!)

(You think this gets to me? You think this is nothing I haven't heard before?)

(I would give up everything, Yeerk, EVERYTHING, my identity, my pride, my dignity to make sure that you suffer to your last breath! If my hands were free I would claw you out myself!)

The rage continued to burn, through my mind, into my eyes. I felt my brow furrow.

(You've already sacrificed your dignity, Andalite, and your identity, and your pride. So yes, dig to me like your superiors, your princes could not. Like your brother, Elfangor. That deplorable murderer. Be glad that you are unlike that villain. And even he, in all of his evil, could not dig through all of us! We are better than you, Andalite. We are better than all of you.)

(My brother was not a murderer,) I seethed.

"No, your brother was a pervert. A sick, bestial pervert whose sexual fantasies with these humans were realized and productive. Your brother created two abominations—the illustrious Visser and a half-breed—"

Breath was coming heavy from my mouth, spit and blood drooled down. Jennor was gazing down at me curiously, eyes troubled.

(Please finish,) she said.

The Yeerk laughed in response. It was more nervous now than amused. He's said it out loud. My tongue shivered in pain.

Jennor kneeled slowly forward, and the strength and threat in her stance relaxed into an almost feminine tenderness. (_Aristh_,) she said slowly. (Do not resist, _aristh_. Relax. He can do nothing more to you.)

(I must fight,) I said. (I must resist.) The Yeerk continued to laugh, saying nothing.

She wiped my forehead gently. It reminded me of my mother. (Rest. Consider that an order. This torture is not permanent.)

I reluctantly obeyed.

The rest of the night was relatively quiet. Jennor remained awake, performing menial, tedious tasks to keep her alert. She sutured a few of my new wounds, dressed and cleaned old ones. The Yeerk said little, ashamed of his inability to keep our internal conflict private. Before morning, he felt the first pang of hunger for Kandrona. A grunt of pain escaped me.

(Less than a day, _aristh_.) She said. She hadn't addressed the Yeerk all night. (It will all be over soon.)

(Talk through your mouth, that's what he wants to hear,) the Yeerk spat at her. (He wants to remember what your spit tastes like.)

Once she finished dressing my wounds, she made me comfortable. Stretched my arms and legs as much as she could. Then, to my surprise, she removed her Shredder from the medical kit and turned the dial down carefully.

(Do not feel this next part,) she said as she pressed the gun against my forehead and fired.

I dreamt of crash landings and battle scars. Elfangor's face: disappointment, pride, and annoyance all mixing together. Prince Elfangor. Prince Jake. Neither feeling comfortable. Soft hands, warm suns, moist grass. Molten sludge, horizontal trees, wicked, burning heat. Home.

Brush the sweat from my eyes. Wipe the blood away.

First assignment. Gedd host. Simple, controllable mind. Killed three Andalites with Dracon Beams. Watched their skin sizzle, warp, and burn.

Elfangor landed when I was eight years old. Just over one cycle. Old enough to not need constant supervision from my mother, but today I never let go of her hand. My father ran to him while the ship still spewed exhaust. He burned his flanks and didn't care. Mother stood back with me, a hand on the back of my neck, keeping me from the danger.

Second assignment. Promoted to Taxxon host. Hunger unbearable. Always smelling blood and sweat on the air, sweet as honey. Everything alive was something that quenched, slaked, satisfied. Everything alive was relief. Tempting even to bite into myself. Controlled the hunger. Transported to a new planet with abundant life, abundant food. It was called Earth.

First day of training. All of my instructors compared me to him. Not fair, really, even now he was considered the best warrior in the fleet. I tried to take it all in stride. The only comforting thought was that I'd never be as good as him, and that was no thought I could afford to have.

Third assignment, human host. Control of the Taxxon morph proved my ability to interact with humans in a convincing manner. The human's hunger was surprisingly just as powerful as the Taxxon's. He hungered for different meat. Blonde, long-limbed, young. Her name was Candy.

I stepped hoof on the Dome Ship. The grass tasted even better than it did at home. I missed my mother. My father said he was proud of me, though he had a long talk with Elfangor before we left.

Demotion. My commanding officer discovered my fixation on Candy. She was still uninfested. I cared too much about her. Hork-Bajir host. Clean-up duty around the Yeerk Pool. It was lucky I wasn't killed.

He died. He died and I would be blamed for it. I already was.

Andalite host. Scan his memories. The Andalite bandits are human? So few in number? Recent activity proved destructive...

_Jennor._

_Aristh, _a voice said somewhere terribly far away. Something was tapping me. Distant, like in a dream. Every nerve ending was distracted with pain. All in concert, some burning, unbearable symphony. But there it was again, the interrupting tap.

(_Can you hear me, aristh?_) A voice again. Sweet, feminine. Who was it? Mother? Candy?

My head ached. Things were separating. The symphony was comprised of sections, individual instruments. Head. Arms. Legs. Toes. Fingers. Nose. Tongue. Eyes.

I opened them.

Staring sideways at the dirt. Dirty hooves crusted over with dry grass dominated my vision. Blue Andalite legs stained with green and brown.

(It is over, _aristh_,) she said. She slipped her tail blade beneath the stiff tape and cut the bonds on my arms and legs. An explosion of pain as they sprang back to their normal positions. One of my hands lifted to my ear to scrape away the gummy residue of the Yeerk.

I tried to put my palms on the ground and push myself up, but my shoulder was sprained. I could do nothing but lie there helplessly and whimper in pain. I was broken in so many different ways.

(Do not attempt to rise,) Jennor said. (Stay where you are.)

Everything hurt. Bits of anatomy previously unknown whined. I tried to morph the injuries away, unsavory an act as that was...

Then I remembered. And my blood ran cold.

Moment by moment, things were becoming clearer. Pain muted by unconsciousness was waking as quickly as I was. Slowly, second by second, I could move more and more. I stretched my legs outward, slowly at first, more surely as time went on.

I rolled onto my back, looked skyward. Hints of stars between sheets of cloud. I blinked my eyes. Necessary tears fell forth.

Everything was over. I was stuck—on Earth, as a human, in a disabled body shattered beyond recognition. I would heal, to a degree, but these injuries would follow me to my death. I could no longer fight. I couldn't even run. I wondered if she had taken record of all of my injuries. I wondered if I even wanted to ask.

Jennor stepped forward and peered down at me, green eyes bright and curious. (Can you speak?) She asked.

"Nnnnnn," I moaned, sob caught in my throat, preventing words from exiting. I coughed it out shamelessly. I didn't care about impressing her anymore. How could I now? What could she possibly see in a broken, vulnerable, treacherous human form like myself?

"Jennor," I bawled, ashamed and defeated. This was almost justice, how I'd surrendered my Andality and been unceremoniously, violently demoted to humanity. "Jennor, I have something to say." The words came out as garbled and pathetic as the message they carried.

(Unnecessary,) she responded, wincing at my unprofessionalism.

"Jennor, listen! I have...That Yeerk, what he did..."

(I hold you responsible for nothing he did or said. Yeerks lie,) Jennor said, absolving me.

I held my breath. I didn't have to tell her. She forgave me, almost too quickly, like she didn't want to know. I nearly allowed the fear of how she'd react to quiet me. But I couldn't. With nothing left, what did I have to lose?

"That Yeerk acted from my desire. His goal was to shame me," I started, pausing. Spit and blood coated all of the words. They flowed from aching, empty tooth sockets. I never would have confessed this healthy.

"I've loved you since the first moment I saw you," I sobbed. "I was so lonely, and so afraid...and I saw you, and I _knew _you, and everything just...it was all fine. You solved an insurmountable problem instantaneously. I am in awe of you. You stupefy me. I love you, Jennor. I just...needed you to know that."

My mouth ached, acrid with fresh oxygen. I couldn't say another word. I didn't look up at her, couldn't see her initial reaction. Knowing her, there probably wasn't one. But she didn't respond for a while, breathing normally, neither advancing nor retreating from her spot.

(How long do you need to convalesce?) She asked coldly.

I turned and stared at her in shock. It was like I had said nothing. (I have no idea how long it will take these injuries to heal,) I said. (Some are quite serious, no?)

This made her wince. I felt a little guilty. A confession followed with such human sarcasm? She'd been up for three straight days. She must be tired.

_She did this to you,_ I thought to myself bitterly. _She should feel guilty, not you._

(I was not referring to your physical injuries,) she said. (Those you can morph away.)

She held out an Escafil Device. I laughed, and the sound reminded me of the dead Yeerk.

(_Nothlits _cannot reuse the Escafil Device,) I said. Anger and rejection refueled me. (Or didn't they teach you that at the Crazy Bitch Academy?)

I regretted it the instant I said it. They were not my words. It was like my tongue had moved without my command, like he was still in control of it. Her tail blade twitched in response. (Did a piece of that scum break off inside your brain?) She asked, glaring. (You don't talk to me that way, _aristh_.)

(You're right. I'm sorry,) I said instantly, noting this was the first thing she'd chastised me for saying.

(This is not an Escafil Device,) she said, kneeling down and placing it by my head. I gazed curiously as she stood back up, some indiscernible glint in her eye, and walked back toward the scoop.


	30. Chapter Seventeen: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

A pang of hope rang out through the pain. _Don't be silly,_ I told myself. _It is more likely that this is her sick idea of a joke than..._

The possibility was there. I rolled onto my side and touched the cube.

To my surprise, it glowed.

_Not difficult to program a cube to glow at your touch_, I said. _You are condemned to humanity. Accept it._

_But why not just try? Would that be such a defeat?_

I focused on my Andalite form. My strong back legs, my stalk eyes, my wiry fur. Almost sobbed again. For a moment, nothing happened. Just as I readied myself to give up, the tip of my pinky splintered in mitosis, a new finger blossoming from the old.

I gasped. Impossible. Absolutely and utterly impossible. Andalite morphing scientists had tried with the first few test subjects, the ones whose sacrifice discovered the two-hour limit. Tried to restore them to their former selves. Impossible. The first of them had died as a _Kafit_ bird. I'd read her memoir.

How could this be?

A new surge of adrenaline coursed through my exhausted body. I demorphed slowly, waiting for something to go wrong. Sight improved in the dark. Wonderful stalk eyes emerged from the top of my head. My brain sharpened, able to accommodate four eyes, four hooves, two atrophied arms, and all the deep reasoning and critical thinking that had sent my race to the stars. Fur sprang from my skin. And soon, my tail shredded through my jeans—the thing I hadn't even been able to accept losing, the thing my denial had been most focused on. Tail and blade lengthened and strengthened just as the animalistic human fear ebbed and the remote Andalite confidence flowed.

I stood on my hooves. Tested my tail blade. I sliced it through some of the longer grass in the clearing. It was sharp and clean. I loved the fresh way it felt after a new morph.

The pain was gone. The cold, deterministic feeling of failure was gone. I was myself again.

I returned to the scoop. Jennor was inside, polishing mud off her Shredder.

(How long do you need to convalesce?) She repeated, watching me without interest.

(What is this?) I asked, holding up the cube.

(It is called an Aldrea's Cube. A vast improvement over the Escafil Device. It eliminates the two-hour limit, eradicates the need for a base form, and restores access to Zero-Space that is lost when one becomes a _nothlit__._)

(Aldrea,) I repeated. A common enough name. Right? (You had this the whole time?)

She stopped polishing her gun and bowed her head. I was quick to mistake exhaustion for regret, but quick to rectify. (I...am sorry I said nothing.)

This surprised me, but I didn't let it confuse me. (Why didn't you?)

(I thought I had the Yeerk under control,) she said quietly. (I was wrong.)

(The handcuffs,) I said, glancing away. (I apologize for that.) She shook her head.

(Everything in this scoop is yours, _aristh_. Everything here was claimed and chosen by you. Only you know the history, background, purpose and secrets of each item. That Yeerk had complete access to all of that information. I did not.)

I placed the Aldrea's Cube on the futon by her medical kit. It was still full of mines. (Not this,) I said, reluctant to release it from my grasp.

(No. That is mine. I considered informing you of the Aldrea's Cube. It would have mollified your torment. But those handcuffs...there were too many erratic variables. Too much room for error. I had to wait.)

I nodded in understanding. (If the Yeerk had taken this knowledge back to the Yeerk Pool with him...but if he had subdued you, you would be infested. They'd still know.)

(Many opportunities for suicide between here and there,) she said with a strange airiness. Her speech was bordering on Beta-form.

I shook my head, trying to understand this turn of events. (You had this the whole time,) I repeated. (Surely you realize Tobias is a _nothlit_.)

(The hawk can morph,) Jennor corrected.

(But he can only remain in human form for two hours at a time,) I scoffed in frustration. (This could have returned him to a normal existence.)

(Unlike you, _aristh_, I do not break revered laws of our people,) Jennor said, sharpness in her gaze. (Hawk or human, he is not an Andalite. He has no right to our technology.)

I could have contradicted her. Tobias' parentage was enough of a loophole. The Yeerk had mentioned it briefly. By many standards, Tobias was an Andalite. I did not know if she had come to the correct conclusion. If she hadn't, I wished to keep it that way.

(There is a cruelty in keeping relief from those in pain,) I said.

(The hawk is not my responsibility,) she reiterated. I rubbed my ear. She went back to cleaning her Shredder. (How long do you need to convalesce?)

I stared at her. (I am healed,) I responded. She turned her second stalk eye to me.

(Physically, yes,) she agreed.

(Do you question my strength?) I demanded.

(You survived through what no other Andalite, save one, can imagine,) she said, placing her gun inside the medical kit. (I am curious how much time it will take you to come to terms with it.)

(I am to terms with it. I'm fine,) I said.

She turned to stare directly at me. Exhaustion veiled her eyes, giving them a defeated look. If she spoke, she spoke softly. Otherwise, it was a figment of my imagination. (That's what you think.

(If that is the case, so be it. Regarding your earlier statement, it is meaningless to me unless you cannot control it. Will it become a problem, _aristh_?)

(Now you acknowledge that I…what I said,) I scoffed, more from embarrassment than amusement.

(You said you loved me,) she responded.

(Yes, I did.)

(Can you control it?)

(Of course not.)

Her eyes narrowed. (You plan to act on it, then?)

I shook my head slowly, disgusted. (What are you asking, Jennor?)

(Can you control yourself?!) She cried with genuine impatience and fear. Her stalk eyes coiled vulnerably and the rag was tight in her fists. I was sure she'd do something, but was not sure whether she would attack me or run away.

(No, Jennor. I do not wish to act on it.)

She calmed herself and looked away. (Very well. The right to act cannot be granted without both our parents' approval. That cannot be obtained until we return to Andal.)

I laughed. A real, uncontrived laugh. The kind humans loved, the kind Marco searched for relentlessly. (I do not wish to marry you, Jennor, if that's what you think.)

She gazed up at me, confused.

(I love you, yes. My hearts have been crying for companionship for months. They are pleased enough with you. You are very beautiful, after all. But my mind...you have nothing in you worth discovering, Jennor. You are an empty, beautiful shell, devoid of the substance that makes us interesting. You feel nothing. You are no Andalite. You're a warrior, a machine crafted for death, and that makes a terrible wife. I love you, but I do not want you.)

I'd meant to hurt her, I suppose. It was an unkind thing to say. But she did not appear hurt. Three days of consciousness had completely wiped away her steely facade. There was a reaction. One I did not expect.

Relief.

(It is meaningless, then,) she sighed.

(Yes.)

(Very well.)

She turned to walk out of the scoop. Just outside, in the cool, humid air, she set her legs far apart, crossed her arms, and readied for sleep.

(Stop rubbing your ear, _aristh. _There's nothing there,) she said. I pulled my hand away and stared at it in wonder. I hadn't even realized I'd been doing it.

The Animorphs did not return from their college visits for another three days. Jennor did not leave the scoop until Tobias returned.

(Hey, Ax-Man, did you throw a bunch of parties while I was gone?) He asked, settling onto his perch. Rachel was with him. Jennor had chosen to disappear.

(No, Tobias. Was your trip productive?)

(A bunch of coaches were recruiting Tom. He chose that moment to tell his parents he didn't want to go to college. Jake almost punched him. Hell, I almost punched him,) Rachel said.

(I am sorry to hear that.)

There was a moment of silence. I swept my stalk eyes around. Rachel and Tobias broke eye contact with me and scanned the scoop.

(Are you all right?) Tobias asked. (Did something happen while we were gone?)

(No. Things were quiet,) I lied.

(Oh. Okay.)

(Well, I gotta get back. The mall closes in half an hour, and if I get home much after that, my mom gets suspicious. See you later, you _two_,) Rachel said as she spread her wings and dove down.

(Where is she?) Tobias asked once Rachel had sufficiently disappeared.

(I am here,) she responded, growing and demorphing from a spot about 20 yards away. Once finished, she walked over, staring at me with her main eyes, watching Tobias with a stalk eye.

(Hi, Jennor, did you miss me?) Tobias asked.

(I did not realize you had left,) Jennor snarled. I bowed my stalk eyes in guilt. She had expected Tobias to be there through my infestation, to assist her with the chore.

(Glad I leave such an impression,) Tobias misunderstood. He ruffled his feathers. (Something weird is going on, isn't it?)

(I believe the _aristh _and I are content,) she said, narrowing her eyes at me. Keeping her gaze locked on me as long as she could, she walked past me and began to canter into the woods.

(That must have been a barrel of fun,) Tobias said to me. (How was she all week?)

(Helpful.) I rubbed the inside of my ear.

(That's good to hear...I guess. Did something...you know what, never mind. Tell me later, okay?)

I didn't respond.

(Anyway, there's a meeting tomorrow morning in Cassie's Barn. Just to check up on things,) he clarified. (Is that cool?)

(Its temperature does not seem relevant,) I sighed.

I morphed to human and walked with Tobias the following day. Returning to that morph, the form which had been so heavily abused, was more difficult than I predicted. I tested the bridge of my nose and tenderness around my eyes. There were no injuries left, but their memory was palpable.

And I kept rubbing my ear.

"Seriously, Ax, are you all right?"

"I find your continual concern bothersome, Tobias," I said.

He stopped walking and stared after me. "You know what's a fun word to say? Gubernatorial."

"We're going to be late," I said.

We reached Cassie's Barn in less than half an hour. I began calculating how long the meeting could last, but then I stopped for a moment, realizing I never had to worry about the two hour limit again. But I had to keep pretending.

I could tell them the truth.

But no, that would reveal Jennor's presence.

I could tell Tobias.

He would tell the rest.

I was growing impatient with the amount of secrets I had to keep. And my impatience was bordering on rage.

"Ax," Jake said as I nearly tripped on a garden hose.

"Jake," I responded.

"No 'Prince?' You haven't called me 'Prince' in almost—"

"My apologies. Prince Jake," I corrected.

The Animorphs gazed at me strangely. I suddenly expected the worst.

"Was your college visit productive?" I asked.

"Not really," Marco said. "I tried to acquire this professor so we could buy beer, but—"

"Marco's kidding, Ax," Cassie said. "We don't acquire any sentient species without permission, remember?"

"Oh, professors are sentient now? Besides, I thought there was an 'in the event of getting potentially shitfaced'' clause," Marco said with a fake pout. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, Ax, we talked a lot while we were gone. I guess a lot has been going on, and we haven't been keeping up with it very well." Jake began.

"I believe our level of communications is adequate," I responded.

"Why aren't you testing out word sounds?" Tobias asked.

I gazed over at him. His features were stiff and severe, like his hawk form, but dangerously curious.

"What do you mean? Meen-uh," I said.

"Ax, we know about the lady Andalite," Marco said.

I felt the air halt in my lungs. Bowels liquefied. I hated being surprised as a human.

(You told them,) I accused Tobias.

(I had to. I should have told them months ago.)

"We're not mad," Jake said. "We get it. You haven't quite worked out these loyalty issues yet."

"Jake—Prince—that's not quite—"

"We've been over this before," Rachel seethed. "You keep promising us how you'll change, how you're really seeing your own people for the first time. How does this one look, Ax?"

"It's not the same, really, I told you guys. She was alone, she basically forced herself on him—" Tobias said.

"She forced herself on you? Well, now I can see why you didn't tell us," Marco scoffed.

"She said she'd kill you all," I whispered.

"And what, we can't take care of ourselves?" Rachel spat.

I looked at Cassie, who had not said anything. She had a sympathetic look in her eyes. I looked away.

"I did not want to risk any of you. She is very..." I couldn't find the right word.

"We're not mad," Jake repeated with a sigh, gesturing for Rachel to calm down. "We're a little disappointed that you still don't trust us enough to let us make our own decisions about direct threats, but we understand that you were trying to protect us. We also agree that it's best if she doesn't know that we know about her."

"You want me to lie to her?" I asked.

"Just don't tell her," Marco said.

"We know she's planning something," Rachel said. "Something with mines? We think it would be better if that's when we make our introductions."

I breathed in slowly, working to solidify my insides. I looked at Tobias. He was apologetic, but still suspicious.

"I am sorry for keeping her from you," I said. "I trust you all, but I fear for you just as much."

"We know," Cassie said, placing a hand on my arm.

"We need you to let us know when she plans to attack," Jake said. "She's flown under the Yeerks' radar for now, but when she attacks, she's going to endanger herself and us, too. It's our right to be there."

"I don't think she'll tell me."

"Well, could you ask her anyway?"

"Yes, Jake."

"About four months, then," he sighed. "I guess I liked it so much that I didn't want to notice."

Tobias and I walked back to the scoop. I felt speechless, thoughtless. Lucky that human mobility was involuntary or else I would be tripping with every step. Tobias wasn't speaking much. I didn't feel like speaking either.


	31. Chapter Seventeen: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

"I didn't do it to hurt your feelings," Tobias finally said.

"I know."

"You seem really upset about it. I'm sorry."

"You did what you thought was right. I am not upset."

"Then why are you crying?"

"I am not crying."

Tobias stopped and turned to me. I stopped as well, raising my fingertips to my eyes.

"Oh."

"What happened while I was gone?"

I gazed at the salty liquid curiously. Crying as an Andalite was such a rare, painful experience. Crying as a human was nearly effortless.

"Ax?" Tobias repeated. "What happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing of interest," I said, continuing my walk. Tobias watched me for a while, and then ran to catch up.

"You can tell me," he said.

"I do not wish to."

"So something did happen?"

"Yes, Tobias! Yes! Something happened while you were away! My life does not pause while the rest of you are off living yours!"

I was breathing hard, ragged. I felt ready to burst, cracking like some fragile piece of earth, magma seeping through and glowing red. Something like a cold, metal egg was lodged in my throat. Another tear emerged from my eye. Tobias put a hand on my shoulder and looked at me in the face. Too close. I hated being seen like this.

"Did she do something to you, Ax?" He whispered. "Did she shame you in some way?"

"I shamed myself," I bawled, rubbing my ear. "I followed her when she told me not to. I broke orders."

"What happened?"

I looked up at him, face honest with tears. His eyes held no judgment. Only concern. He was my _shorm_.

"I was infested," I whispered.

I proceeded to tell him the entire series of events that occurred while the Animorphs were away. My mistake, Jennor's overconfidence, the Yeerk's near escape. I left out the greatest shame, the greatest surrender, that horrible weakness that would have forever defined me had Jennor not fought back as hard. I did not tell him that, for a moment, the Yeerk and I agreed about hurting her for mutual gain. Tobias' eyes remained active and alert, but without emotion. It was good that he spent most of his time as a hawk. I liked speaking to him as an objective observer.

I felt empty when I was finished, except for that small kernel of unrevealed secret. There were no more tears to shed. The pain would still cut, but for now it was numbed. Tobias never let go of my shoulder.

"It was all my fault," I said, tears caked and dried to my cheeks. "I made a greater error than any Andalite before me. My brother was the best warrior in the fleet. Ironic that he was related to the worst."

"Jake was infested," Tobias said. "We all look up to him."

"It should not have happened. I replay what I did. So many warnings. So many opportunities to turn back. I am a fool."

"There's nothing wrong with a little tenacity," Tobias said. "I would have done the exact same. I blame her, if anything. She should have let you come along. She should have told you that she didn't disarm the biofilters. Her silence is at fault, not you."

"Don't blame her. She remedied it."

"She cleaned up her own damn mess," Tobias huffed. "I don't like her, Ax."

I managed a laugh. "I'm aware."

Tobias and I slowly headed back to the scoop. I did feel better. I was glad I told him. I did not feel healed.

Tobias was hungry and went to feed some time later. Jennor was still in the scoop, preparing for another trip to deposit mines in the Yeerk Pool. I sat on the futon watching her get ready.

(You told the hawk,) she surmised.

"Yes."

(Very well.)

"You were right," I whispered. She turned a stalk eye to me.

(About what?)

"I have not convalesced."

(I know.)

"He's still inside of me. He's still a part of me."

She slowly latched closed the pockets on her utility belt and turned her main eyes to me. (Yes. For now.)

"How long?"

(That is entirely up to you.)

I shook my head. "He's gone. I'm being a fool."

(The Yeerk was your brain for three days. He was your voice. He was your body. He was you. For three days you were his tool. Now, you are you. His voice still rings through your throat. His demands still course through your limbs. His thoughts run together with yours. He is dead, but he still speaks. Demands. Thinks. But, you are you. Wipe his thoughts and demands from your mind. Reclaim yourself. He can no longer hurt you.)

"How?"

Jennor blinked. (I don't know.)

I stared up at her for a while, and she down at me. Neither of us moved.

"When will you be done with your project?" I asked.

(Another three trips. Excluding this one.)

"I see."

Her stalk eyes swept around uncomfortably. Her main eyes never left mine. (_Aristh_, your determination to help me has not gone unnoticed,) she sighed. (I would like you to accompany me when I set them off.)

My heart leapt, and for a moment, I was not sure why. Then images accompanied the glee, images of Hork-Bajir howling in pain, the constant, dominoing cascade of Taxxons ripping and vacuuming each other, and even humans clutching bleeding eyes and severed limbs in agony.

Very soon, I would be able to kill Yeerks.

I swallowed back my emotion and flattened my expression.

"All right."

She nodded, morphed to Goshawk, and flew off with her utility belt packed with mines.

Yeerk heightened security required her to make more infrequent trips. The Animorphs had decided to "lay low," as Jake put it, until Jennor's plan was completed, and then wipe out as much of the Yeerk Pool as possible in one fell swoop. I felt uncomfortable as a result of their plan. I felt the simultaneous obligation to remain loyal to them, and to do my duty as an _aristh_ and inform Jennor of their knowledge. She had expressed concern about them, and did not know whether they would end up attacking the Yeerk Pool on the same night that she would detonate the mines. She said she was not worried about it, but it was clear she considered their interference a potential disaster.

For three more weeks, she waited. She continued her human combat lessons as I continued to convalesce. I tried to do what she said—purge the Yeerk's remaining influence from my mind—but it was difficult. He was still scarred into so many facets of my life. Whenever I bit my tongue or stubbed my toe, I felt the pain he allowed me to feel. Whenever I coughed or sneezed, I tasted the bloody pulse he had controlled. When I spoke, using certain inflections, I heard his voice, not my own. But it was me. He had stolen me. He had used me. But he was not me.

But he had brought out something evil in me, pulled it to the surface so I could no longer ignore it…and that _was_ me. And the truth, that something so horrible existed inside of me, that I was not as good as I thought…that enraged me. That gave me a great, unholy desire for revenge. And as time slowly leaked by, that desire pulsed and grew like a deep infection, like gangrene. And I knew if I could not claim vengeance, the infection would overtake me. And I did not know what would happen then.

Tobias suggested I talk to Jake about it. I told him I did not wish any of the other Animorphs to know what had happened. He respected my wishes, but it was clear he did not consider himself expert enough to help me. I knew I would have to find someone who could understand. Someone who knew how desperately I needed to purge this wickedness from deep inside.

Finally, one rainy morning (Yeerks preferred feeding in inclement weather, because Earth humidity trapped in the cave felt like their homeworld), Jennor was gathering the remainder of her mines for the final trip. Seeds of violence sparkled in her eyes. She looked excited, almost happy. I watched her as she prepared, fur slick and matted with rain, packing her Shredder into her holster for its first real outing on Earth.

(Are you nervous?) I asked her, relishing in an unnatural calm, ready to morph to Norther Harrier when she gave the signal.

(No.)

(You've been preparing for this for some time, how do you feel?)

(I feel nothing, _aristh_.) I smiled to myself. It was just as easy to get her to admit that as I'd thought it would be. (How...how do you feel?) She asked slowly, unsure whether it was appropriate.

(I don't know anymore,) I said honestly. Her stalk eye looked troubled.

She continued getting ready in silence, a slow, methodical, nearly ritualistic process that took long enough for me to doubt her claim to calmness, though mine was still intact. In that time, I gathered the courage to ask the question I'd been wondering about for some time:

(Jennor,) I said, (I mean, Prince, I have a question for you.)

(Does it concern today's mission?) She asked.

(It indulges a curiosity of mine.)

She looked up at me, blinking rainwater dripping from the trees out of her eyes. (All right.)

(Why do you have the Aldrea's Cube?)

(I knew…it is not relevant, _aristh_,) she said.

(Please, sir.)

Her eyes shifted uncomfortably from mine. (This discussion can wait until the completion of our mission.)

(That time may not come,) I said bluntly. (Were you a _nothlit_ at one point? Or just a fortunate test subject?) I asked.

She looked at me again, eyes crippling into some strange emotion, and didn't respond.

(You didn't morph from human until I hit you with the handcuff,) I said. (I didn't realize it at the time, but—)

(You didn't hit me with the handcuff, _aristh_. The sooner you realize that...) she trailed off.

(Perhaps this mission will help my convalescence,) I sighed.

(It won't. Vengeance helps nothing,) she said.

I felt a sharp spike of rage, suddenly tempted to lash out at her for contradicting my desire. Instead, I called back my impassivity, breathed a lungful of the heavy, humid Earth air, and said, (We shall see.)

Concern spread down her stalk eyes again, into a troubled expression on her face. She rubbed her hands together, spreading rainwater into the cracks of her skin. She closed her eyes, breathed in deep, and opened them, emotion cleared away.

(It is time to complete our mission, _aristh_,) she said as she morphed.

We flew under cover of rain and clouds, a nearly impossible venture as birds of prey. When we landed on the roof of the mall, I saw five silhouetted winged shapes against a flash of lightning.

(Perhaps we will die today,) I said as I watched them circle over another wing of the mall.

She morphed directly from Goshawk to human, latching the belt under her clothes, soaked with rain, concealing her weapon under the sweatshirt tied around her waist. (Perhaps.)

She opened the utility door, squeezed the rain from her curly hair, and we went inside.


	32. Chapter Eighteen: The Empress

Chapter Eighteen

PART ONE OF THREE

The Empress

Laughter bounced menacingly around the tiny room. Infirm rasps and barks that came from deep within his strong, weathered body mixed with raucous, gleeful thought-speech laughter. It made Terenia uncomfortable.

It made me uncomfortable.

How had she ever managed to confront this monolith? How could she speak her mind, even once, to something so massive, so enormously powerful? I had seen him, of course, in her memory, but few people realize that memory is immediately marred by perception. Terenia hadn't seen someone so large and imposing, and Terenia wasn't seeing him now.

I was.

(Why are you here?) I breathed to him, uncertain even who was in charge at this moment. I cowered beneath him, a pebble trembling before a mountain. I straightened my spine, corrected my thought patterns so I appeared dominant. _He's ranked below you,_ I had to remind myself. But I was still a little girl and he was still an experienced warrior, my keeper, my master. Our strangely reversed positions of power made it difficult to know how to act.

(Sofor is wondering the same about you,) the Yeerk said, still laughing.

(Tell me why you are on this ship,) I ordered, voice stern. I looked back at Nagrit for support. He nodded me forward, a concerned glint in his eye.

(He's one of us, Terliss. Treat him as such.) I stared into his eyes for a moment, one of my stalk eyes motionless and obvious, then remembered to sweep them back and forth behind my head, so I wasn't giving away that he was holding me up entirely.

(I mean, tell me why your host is on this ship,) I said with a touch more confidence, a sliver less volume.

(My apologies, ma'am. You are in charge here.) Sofor said, eyeing me carefully. (You may have noticed the...quality of this Dome Ship. It's an older model. The military actually decommissioned it about ten years ago.)

(Yes. It's an older ship. Of course. But...that doesn't answer my question,) I said, starting hesitant and ending hesitant and loud.

(Ask him where Jennor is,) Nagrit offered.

(He wouldn't know that.)

(But it certainly would change the subject.)

(Why are you here?) I repeated, unable to scrounge the confidence to ask anything else.

(I am here because Jennor is lost,) he said. (She is lost and needs to be found.)

(Terliss,) Nagrit hissed. (Don't embarrass yourself any further. Let me question him. I'll get everything we need.)

(I can do this,) I hissed back.

(Don't be ashamed, Terliss. Just walk away. Let me handle it. I don't have the history that you do. He's just an old man to me.)

Concern without judgment was in his eyes. I smiled to him. (Very well.)

To Sofor: (As you can probably guess, the apprehension of this Dome Ship has made me very busy. My assistant will debrief you. Please leave out no detail. Jennor's capture is very important to me.)

(I'm aware.)

I nodded to him, and his heavy eyes followed me as I left. Rich, stunning blue punctuated by that terrible scar he should have been able to morph away. I knew he could see right through me, pierce past my contrived posture, gaze right to the fear that burned within me. He still smiled that awful, knowing smile, that smile of leverage that said, "Don't worry, sir. I won't use it against you yet."

But he was infested. A loyal Yeerk who longed for my approval was inside of his head. Why did he still feel so overwhelming?

I left his quarters and gazed down the long hallway. Taxxons were still standing at doors nearest to me. Beyond them, teams of Hork-Bajir broke down locked doors and infested the Andalites within. I nodded to the Taxxons, and in their strange, Taxxon way, they smiled back. Morale was high. We were making history.

I meandered past them, tail high, to the middle of the ship and entered the Captain's quarters. No, not the Captain's anymore. The Empress' quarters. At the far wall of the room was a large bay window beyond which lay the fertile, limitless galaxy. Infinite stars making comprehensible patterns in the chaos.

(Like looking up at the clouds and seeing something there,) Terenia offered. I shut my thoughts off from her. She'd been mostly quiet through the takeover. I'd almost forgotten. I had to be careful.

(Look, I see the Andalite fleet,) she laughed. (See? Over there? All those little white specks? They're coming for you.)

(Don't be stupid,) I sighed.

(You should follow your own advice,) Terenia said. (Yeah, you've got them now, but catching a wild animal is a lot easier than keeping it tame.)

(I tamed you, didn't I?) I snapped back.

(I will admit it was weird, seeing him again,) she said. (He got old. Did you see the hairless patches on his flank? Is that how Andalites go bald?)

(I didn't notice,) I admitted.

(No, and he scared you bad, didn't he? Why is that? Why'd he scare you so much?)

(I don't know.)

(I do.)

(Oh?)

(Because you Yeerks like to think in terms of genetics. In terms of generations, traits, races. You breed your Hork-Bajir for strength and your Taxxons for subdued self-control. You saw the power in him. That bubbling, overwhelming quality that oozed all over. Imagine how much of that he gave to his daughter. And you didn't even know what her mother was like.)

(Neither did you.)

(But I know Jennor.)

(She was four years old when you knew her last.)

(And even then I saw something worse than what you saw in that room. I saw power ran so deep that it seemed rooted to the very ground she stood on. Look in my memories, Yeerk, look inside my head and see what you've been avoiding. See that fearless glint in her eye. See that perfect judgment of all the flaws in the world, and how she could exploit them. Look inside me and see what you're really up against.)

(Why am I even indulging you? I have work to finish.)

I walked outside the quarters, hoping…no, expecting to see Nagrit. I glanced back behind me to the room I'd left him in. The door was still closed.

"Sir," A slumping Taxxon said to me, translator squawking with static. "All quarters have been infiltrated. A task team of Hork-Bajir is giving the ship one final sweep to make sure the population is all accounted for."

(Very well. Take your brothers and board the Pool Ship. Stay in close formation.)

"Yes, sir."

The Taxxon screeched in his own voice, surprising me, signaling the other Taxxons to leave the inhospitable environment of the Andalite Dome Ship and return home.

I stood still, realizing my plan had been executed so flawlessly that I had nothing to do. I couldn't appear to be unemployed, so I crossed the hallway and entered the brig.

Five Hork-Bajir guards still stood inside, a couple looking less than pristine. The saluted to me, standing too straight. They seemed to be expecting me to rebuke them. I didn't know why, and it made me nervous.

I moved to face the first cell, humming with a red force field that protected its inhabitant from me. (They've separated you,) I said to the bleeding Andalite standing within. (A mistake on my part. I forgot how you Andalites like private gossip.)

(Rot in hell, Yeerk,) the doctor spat. He stood, slumping against the wall, curling his tail into a long, deep gash in his flanks. A group of Hork-Bajir must have already worked on him. I nodded to the Hork-Bajir guard to open the force field.

(You shouldn't treat your captors so disrespectfully,) I warned.

(To treat a Yeerk with any degree of respect would be high treason,) he breathed bravely, though he pushed himself hard into the bulkhead, away from me. (You are scum.)

I walked over, and with every shred of deliberation and precision I could muster, pressed my small, scalpel-shaped tail blade against his throat.

(I don't need to decapitate you to kill you,) I reminded him. (You are worth nothing to me.)

(Then do it, Yeerk. Muster the courage to do what I could not.)

My tail was unpracticed and heavy at such a strange angle. I stared into his tired eyes. I saw something that should have given me confidence and pride, that maniacal feeling of victory. I saw defeat. And instead, I felt pity for him. A strange part of me wanted to let him escape, let him warn the Andalites about the newest development in their war. Level the playing field. Grant him mercy. It was clear how much he'd lost, especially now that he had failed trying to reclaim whatever it was he had left.

I pulled my tail blade away. (I will not kill you yet, Andalite. I just wanted to remind you that I could. And that it will be your fate, when I have finished with you.)

(Until then, I will defy you at every possible juncture. Whatever power you give me I will use only to resist you.)

(I would expect no less,) I said, leaving the brig. The Hork-Bajir engaged the force field, and it flickered once before appearing again.

Nagrit was standing outside the brig.

(Hi,) I said to him.

(I told you not to be ashamed.)

(I'm not,) I said.

(He sacked you like a linebacker, are you kidding?) Terenia piped in.

(I'm not ashamed,) I said to them both, but they both realized I was saying it mostly to myself. Nagrit smiled in reassuring encouragement. (What did Sofor have to say?)

(He will be valuable to us,) Nagrit began.

Sofor had spent most of the time after Jennor's abduction and Terenia's capture wallowing in self-pity. He thought a lot about his life, his choices, and the mistakes that had brought him to his current situation. He shied away from company, attempting to meditate privately on his past and make amends with it. He contacted the Andalite military to apologize for his involvement in the Hork-Bajir debacle, and for the capture of Alloran by the Yeerks—though he bore no responsibility for either tragedy, he had taken to believing he had committed some sin in his past for his current punishment, and longed for forgiveness.

He'd thought a lot about Jennor's mother.

(What happened to her, anyway?) I asked. (Terenia knows that she died, but she doesn't know how.)

(She died in child birth.)

Despite the stress of the day, the humiliation of being overwhelmed by Sofor, and my own intent focus on Nagrit's story, I scoffed. (The meddlesome, technologically superior figureheads of the galaxy, still vulnerable to something like that,) I said. Any species comprised of blades and lots of sharp edges was vulnerable to it, but it was a problem even we had mostly solved. (I guess it's sort of funny.)

(He seemed to indicate that it was sort of sad,) Nagrit said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. I felt the uncomfortable clenching of his imposed conscience on me, but then I realized his sympathy was not so remote and abstract in this particular case.

Sofor saw other women. Some of them were intrigued by his disfigured, aged, experienced form. Some of them loved war heroes. Some were simply bored or as lonely as him. None of them were enough.

Finally, near the beginning of Jennor's third cycle, he felt a tug of ambition from some unknowable source. Perhaps it was the recent story he'd read in _The Warrior Chronicles_ about that group of philanthropists working with wealthy families of MIA soldiers. They were pooling money and influence to purchase a military Dome Ship for a civilian mission—reuniting their families, reclaiming their lost loved ones, and protecting them better than the military had. Their contempt of the war was not veiled, and though the War Council had every legal right to shut down the mission, a few officers had been blessed with forethought and wisdom. They supported the project, even offering to send a contingent of warrior chaperones.

Perhaps the story had festered in his mind for a few days before he could accept what it meant on a more conscious level. He could reunite his family, too. He could volunteer.

And he could find the offspring he had totally failed.

He did not request help from his neighbors, all of whom knew what had happened to Jennor and, more urgently, Terenia. Most of them blamed him for both, and any financial help they offered would feel insincere, like they were absolving him of some crime he didn't commit. He managed to scrape together the requisite funds by taking contract work from the military. It was shameful work, refurbishing old Shredders and resodding the floors in docked transports, but it slowly gave him the resources he needed.

When the Dome Ship, named the _NovaBlade_, departed, Sofor had everything he needed. Though he didn't believe Jennor was on Earth, he accepted that most of the donors were families of soldiers on the _GalaxyTree_, and that it would probably be a long time before he saw his daughter again.

The mission, so far, had lasted two and a half years. There were many unsuccessful stops on the way to Earth. Though the ship had become a small, tightly-knit community, strung together with hope and promise, Sofor remained mostly outside of it, preferring solitude, brooding in his shame, counting down the days until redemption.

(Then we attacked,) Nagrit said, finishing. (Sofor is entirely driven, but the Yeerk controlling him seems to have things under control.)

(Who is it?)

(Sub-Visser 11. You know him.)

(Ah, yes, you selected him, didn't you?) I asked.

(I've known him from birth Pool,) he explained. (And he's just as driven as Sofor.)

(Very well, Nagrit, you trust him. He shall remain. But I can't stress enough the importance of this unexpected turn. Sofor will be vital when we finally find her.)

(Yes,) Nagrit agreed. (Perhaps she is merely on Earth, with the rest of that planet's doomed race.)

(Doomed?) I asked, troubled. (Do you mean…is that true?) I gasped.

(This ship was Earth's last chance, Terliss,) Nagrit said. (This is the last ship with such wide coordinates. The Andalites have planned a tight future war. They've altered their strategy from our complete obliteration to mere self-preservation. They're no longer concerned with outliers.)

(We have stopped the final threat to Earth?) I whispered.

(Besides Visser Three's Andalite Bandits, it appears we have.)

(Our analysts have said that Earth is the only hope the Andalites have,) I continued, in shock. (If what you say is true, it means…we've essentially won the war.)

(I know, Terliss.)


	33. Chapter Eighteen: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

I couldn't help myself, and flung my arms around his neck. The few Hork-Bajir and Andalites in the hallway were distracted, except for one purple pair of Andalite eyes I noticed, but it didn't matter. My elation was too complete, my thrill past the threshold of self-control. I held his warm body and rubbed my cheek against his in what I immediately understood to be a profane form of physical affection. He didn't stop me, though his body flinched back, probably a flare of resistance from his host. But his hesitation could not stop my rampaging desire. I felt heat descend into my haunches and fell in love with what it meant.

(We need to retreat,) I breathed. (Let's go to my quarters.)

I imagined, from some instinct, his warmth and weight on my back, pressing my curled tail tight against my body, his front hooves hooking into my flanks, and nearly collapsed from the sheer sudden weight of it all. Nagrit seemed in better control. He pulled my face away with his hands and stared at a close, comfortable distance.

(To discuss this,) he clarified. (Not to act on it.)

(Whatever.)

We made it inside my quarters, and I immediately continued on the path. I pressed myself into his squirming humanoid chest, rubbed my hands against his equine one. Nagrit resisted—unreasonably—and for a moment I considered ordering him to reciprocate. He grabbed my grappling wrists firmly and he said:

(We cannot do this.)

(That's what makes it so much fun.)

(I did not say "should not." I said "cannot.")

A part of me stopped and acknowledged him. (Why not?)

(There is too much…risk with sexual encounter.)

(Risk of what?)

(Of...physical weakness. Of your body's—)

(What?)

(I could impregnate you, Terliss,) he sighed.

(Phsyical weakness...) I repeated, sweat beading on my forehead, shins and shoulders wobbling, blood coursing to my lower body in rushing pulses. (You...no, there's no risk of that, we can...)

(The only people on this ship who can help us are doctors,) Nagrit said, loosening his hold on my wrists and stroking them absent-mindedly. (One of the uninfestables is a doctor, and there are probably a couple more we will find once we look at the manifest. Frankly, none of them can be trusted with knowledge of your sexual activity. It's in a Yeerk's nature to exploit and blackmail. I would more quickly trust a subdued uninfestable than a high-ranking, ambitious Yeerks with nothing to lose from releasing classified, sensitive information about his commanding officers.)

(And only doctors can provide Andalite contraceptives?)

(We can look into it,) Nagrit responded, (but we can't count on anything, least of all sheer chance keeping you safe.)

He drew my wrists to my side and released, taking careful steps backward.

(Please understand that this is not because my longing isn't reciprocal,) he said with a knowing smile. (That was the single hardest thing I've ever done.)

For some reason, I gazed at him intently, searching for the lie. His voice sounded…strained. Dishonest. Unnecessarily appeasing. But instead of bringing up my suspicion, I relented.

(We may never unite,) I sighed.

(We need patience, Terliss. We'll find a way.)

I smiled as Nagrit opened the door and allowed me to leave ahead of him, but not because I was satisfied.

In a couple of hours, the poison wore off and we began the arduous task of organizing a ship of Yeerks who were blind and unfamiliar in new hosts. Because of the nature of how we attacked, we could not assign specific Yeerks to specific Andalites, and had to take a quick, detailed census before we could fashion a more complete roster. We found pilots, specialists, pointless donors and philanthropists, and even a celebrity, a well-known morph dancer, whose only purpose was to uphold the ship's morale. The ship was comprised of very few people who were trained to defend themselves.

After a short census was conducted, and the initial duty roster organized, I retreated to the bridge.

I stood at a secondary control panel, scrolling through the manifest. I pulled up three files—each of the uninfestables. Stared at the personnel pictures. Flipped through the information within. Wracked my brain trying to find something, anything that they had in common that I could explore as a cause of their deformity. Why couldn't they be infested?

I watched Nagrit come up behind me. He seemed exhausted, but was still buzzing with the pleasure from our victory. (The initial shift will commence in two hours,) he said, stretching his tail straight up in the air. (We still have a lot of work to do.)

(Yes. And I'm afraid I must burden you with a personal mission.)

(Anything, Terliss.)

I smiled and consciously shifted closer to him. (I want you to get to know our guests in the brig,) I began. (Remotely, of course. I've pulled up their personnel files. They each contain classified information. I doubt you'll have much trouble decrypting it. I want commonalities. I want to know what sets them apart. Any patterns, no matter how insignificant they may seem. It would be nice if I had something to give the Council tomorrow, but if not…well, as soon as possible, Nagrit.)

He sighed, and his tail twitched a little bit. It was pointed towards me. (I'll see what I can find. My host knows a little bit about Isstarim. He's sort of the ship's patron.)

I narrowed my eyes, rubbing my forehead. (There has to be some pattern. Some defining characteristic…I need to know how to defeat them. Or at least exploit them.)

(Consider it done, Terliss.)

After that, I made a list of objectives for the first shift to complete. I decided the most important mission for my new crew was simply to keep the ship afloat. Over the course of the first couple of shifts, with the limited expertise of the second and third shift bridge crew, we discovered how to fly the ship and access many of the files on the computer. Unfortunately, many classified files were inaccessible once the bridge team had activated a computer encryption. Only the Electorate could decrypt the computers and though they'd normally be alerted once the encryption was enacted, the distress signal had been jammed when we'd cut communications. I repaired communications quickly, deleting the distress signal from the queue in the process. It was not difficult. The ship's communications technician worked second shift.

The second most important mission was thus decrypting the computer.

I sent for the best Yeerk codebreakers and went to work on it. We had immediate access to more intelligence than any Yeerk agent had ever dreamed, but there was more to know, and our cupidity drove our ambition. If we could somehow interrupt the programming of the 20-layered shield, we could invade Andal. If we could access the Andalite intelligence grid, we could deactivate the military's organizational system, effectively sabotaging the entire Andalite campaign.

We could even return to the Yeerk homeworld.

The power to control the Andalite's technology was at our fingertips, but we could not yet reach.

The third mission to the ship, and the first to me, was finding Jennor-Elacable-Barees.

I expressed this to the Council as soon as I felt the ship could do without me for a reasonable length of time.

Stepping aboard my Pool ship after the fresh, wonderful exposure of the Dome Ship was like going back inside of a cage. Terenia was human, and I was Yeerk, but the body we shared belonged on soft grass under holographic, convincing skies. I had never recognized the discomfort I felt aboard my Yeerk ship, but now it was more than plain.

"That was fast," a Lottess 331, a violent Hork-Bajir, said once I began transmission in the projection room.

(It was fast and successful,) I corrected him.

Cheers broke out among the council members I considered allies. Even though the projections themselves were red, I detected a greenish tint on Sessil's face. He cleared his throat to quiet everyone.

"What was the infestation rate?"

(Out of 429 Andalites on board, only four could not be infested. One of those committed suicide. No other casualties have been reported, besides the 16 members of the bridge crew.)

"You expect me to believe that no Andalites died during the takeover of this ship?" The human asked, raising his voice. I smiled inwardly. He was losing self-control.

(You insult me by insinuating I would provide false data,) I said quietly. (The plan worked flawlessly.)

Cheers broke out again amongst my supporters. Fence-riders, and even a couple of council members I thought were against me joined in. Only the human and Seert 115 fumed.

(We have experienced a victory that the Empire has never before witnessed, yes, but it would be foolish for us to dwell on it. We must move forward. I will take temporary residence in the Earth solar system around the planet with massive rings. The rings offer our best chance to disrupt any Andalite scanners or probes in the system. I should reach it in about three days. Once we decrypt the computers, I want to launch a full-scale assault on Earth. With Visser Three's current resources and the additional Andalite resources we have procured, it should be simple. With Earth under our control, the end of the war will be upon us. We could be the dominant species in the galaxy within our lifetimes.)

I breathed steadily, but suddenly felt the rope twist again in my stomach. I smiled as my colleagues laughed and cheered, but couldn't help feeling that what I had just said was a lie.

"Now, now, wait a moment," Ossot 172 said. I sighed, expecting his disagreement. Once I'd convinced the Council that breeding hosts was more productive than deplorable, he'd been assigned to regulate it. "You want to throw a ship full of Andalite Controllers directly into the largest conflict we've ever faced? That's like using fine silverware or precious stones as light ammunition. I believe we should bring these Andalites into Yeerk space as soon as possible and start all of them on fertility treatments."

"I actually agree," Sessil said. "It's been our goal since the beginning to enslave the Andalites, and you want to put our only insurance back on the table? No. We must protect our new assets."

(There are three Yeerk-controlled command battleships in this system, and that doesn't even include the two Blade Ships docked on the Pool Ships. That's enough firepower to win the conflict on Earth two times over. Why would we hesitate when given such good odds for success?)

"It's too risky," Jarssett 316 said quietly. He was the decaying Gedd and rarely spoke. I usually forgot he was even there, but when he spoke, I was reminded how much respect he'd earned from the Council, how much power he had. He'd been there longer than any of us. In a way, he was the figurehead, even though I had rank on him. It would be very difficult to directly contradict him.

(Then what do you suggest?) I responded quietly. Defectingly.

"Two Pool Ships will complete the job on Earth just as surely as two Pool Ships and a Dome Ship," Lottess 331 said. "In fact, a Dome Ship simultaneously undergoing an infrastructure reboot might get in the way. I suggest you bring the Dome Ship back as soon as possible and leave your Pool Ship in Visser Three's command to expedite Earth's annexation."

(I can't do that until I have a self-sustaining Yeerk Pool on board,) I said. (I need my Pool Ship to feed the Yeerks on board this vessel.)

"Then your first priority should be to build a Yeerk Pool," Stebbiss 521 said. "I'll send a team of engineers to get plans underway."

"Do you have any qualms with this?" Sessil asked, a taunting timbre in his voice. "Do we even need to put this to a vote?"

I wasn't entirely happy with this plan. Bureaucratic deadlock was one of my biggest fears, one of things I was most anxious to avoid when I finally claimed the Council as Empress. Three superpowers floating armed yet useless within firing range of Earth was the kind of hesitancy and indecision that infuriated me. But to contradict Jarssett…that would lose me support. Perhaps too much. I still carried a vocal majority, on most uncontroversial issues. If I usurped this vote, that may put an end to democracy in the Council. I'd have to be an Empress in both name and role. And that would be the end of my reign. Beyond that, it was an issue of how much time it would take a Council-appointed assassin to reach me through Zero Space.

(No,) I said. (Once again, my clear-eyed Council has seen something I have not. I'll ask Visser Three for any engineers and Kandrona specialists he can spare. I'll also double-check this ship's manifest to see if there are any Andalite engineers whose expertise I could use.)

Sessil's expression was inscrutable. But Jarssett smiled a little.

"Now that's settled. What are your immediate goals?" Guttill 221 croaked through his translator.

(I plan to organize the Dome Ship and make it mutiny-proof. I believe Yeerk infrastructure will transfer fairly simply, but I don't want to miss a simple variable that could be our undoing. As soon as I believe this ship is under solid leadership, I would like to resume my search for Jennor.)

"What about those uninfestable Andalites you mentioned?" Sessil asked.

(They alone will not be a problem,) I said. Nagrit had not gotten back to me in time for the meeting. He was also the ship's personnel commander, and was still busy perfecting his duty rosters that he'd had to build from scratch. Despite the fact that he had a good excuse, he would have been reprimanded greatly if he was not my lover. And I was not a fan of nepotism in any shape.

"How can you be so sure? Why are they even still alive?"

(I'm keeping them alive because I would like to study them. We Yeerks have never doubted our power before, but—)

"Are you doubting it now?"

I gazed at the human stiffly, waiting for him to retreat. He didn't.

(If we can discover why it is we can't infest these few men, then perhaps we can work to remedy it.)

"When do we get to inspect these specimens for our own use?" Garoff 315 asked.

(As we have already said, the plan to begin an Andalite breeding program to outfit our best and brightest with the most powerful hosts is still on. I'd like these particular Andalites to remain on this vessel for the time being. I haven't got a good grasp on how few Andalites I need to run this ship yet. As far as my fellow council members, I don't believe in stealing from the poor and hardworking just to appease the rich and privileged. You didn't want to risk your lives invading this ship, so you can wait like everyone else.)

The cheering died down, but I would not relent. This was a tenet of my rule that I had to uphold.

"Very well," Sessil said with a wry smile. "Keep us updated as you discover more. This council will deliberate about the uninfestables. If the majority believes they are too much of a risk, then you will kill them, my Empress."

(I would gladly be the one to do it,) I responded with a small bow. I ended communications.**  
**


	34. Chapter Eighteen: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

Nagrit was waiting, like always, when I left the room.

(You're beaming,) he said.

(Am I?) I asked with a light laugh. (Perhaps it is from sexual frustration.)

(Shall I keep my distance?)

I stared into his brown eyes and felt my smile widen. (They're mine, Nagrit. Sessil is scrambling for power, but it's too late. We've done it.)

(Stop thinking that way, Terliss.)

(I'm frustrated with them. I don't like compromising with people who disagree simply to assert themselves.)

(It is the only way to maintain the kind of rule you want.)

I sighed. (Has anyone contacted Visser Three yet? I wouldn't want him shooting us down in misunderstanding.)

(I informed him we were headed toward the Earth solar system, but I decided to leave the particulars of it to your care.)

(How very sweet of you, Nagrit.)

(I aim to please, sir. In fact, I have completed my study of the uninfestables. I apologize for getting this to you past the deadline.)

(No, it's all right. We barely discussed them. The Council was more focused on telling me how to run my ship.)

(You gave me a mission that I failed, sir. It won't happen again.)

I looked up at him. Swooned a little bit, still surprised at how attractive he was, how much it affected me. Then I noticed the sincerity in his deep eyes. It made me love him more and forgive him completely.

(Very well, Sub-Visser. What did you find?)

(I think it's better if I show you.)

He began walking towards the brig, handing me a small viewscreen. It was the classified service record of the short Andalite. Trylast-Pallatin-Ertiss: six cycles, two years, four months old. Born in the foothills of the Antarctic mountains. Mother and father both disowned him ten years before his legal maturation.

(It took longer to decrypt the classified personnel files than I expected,) Nagrit said. (Even information so insignificant is greatly protected. I don't know if this level of Andalite paranoia is inborn, or if it's just developed since the beginning of the war, but it serves them well.)

(What are "deviances?") I asked, reading his file, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

Nagrit stopped as well. (That's part of the problem. All of the language in these reports is deflective, politically correct. Ultimately meaningless. I questioned the Andalite, and I—)

(You mean you tortured him,) I said bluntly. I didn't know why I was so harsh. Nagrit winced.

(No matter what I did, he wouldn't explicate. Whatever "deviances" means, it's bad. Something he's desperate to keep concealed, no matter what.)

(Including cooperation with us?) I asked.

(That's what he indicated,) Nagrit said. We continued walking.

(The tall Andalite was much easier. I didn't even have to breach his classified file. He's dying.)

(Pity,) I said noncommittally.

(He requires daily doses of an Andalite delicacy to mollify the pain,) Nagrit explained. (Getting that medicine was not a problem before. But now we control it.)

(So he's agreed to cooperate as well?)

Nagrit waved his stalk eyes, something like an Andalite shrug. (He said "Very well" when I asked him. But…he's strange, Terliss. It's almost like he's not involved in any of this, mentally or physically. Like he doesn't really care either way.)

(So there does seem to be some sort of commonality between them,) I said. (Pain. Hidden shames. Secrets. They're very exploitable. Very weak, it seems. Yet, it's the kind of weakness that spawns strength.) I was thinking hard, and didn't even realize we'd reached our destination.

We stopped outside of the brig. A middle-aged female, also oddly familiar, was waiting for us. She was holding a medical kit.

(I take it she is something else you discovered?)

(The doctor's wife,) Nagrit explained. (The only other medical officer on this ship. Sub-Visser 238, show your Empress the proper respect.)

(I will have to threaten your life occasionally,) I said to her. Sort of a joke. I tried to keep the mood light when introducing myself to subordinates. Her eyes were blank, her posture relaxed and expressionless.

(Yes, sir,) she said, not even acknowledging my lame attempt at humor. I eyed her worriedly.

(Does he know she's infested?) I asked Nagrit.

(I'm sure he's figured it out by now. But to my knowledge, he hasn't seen her since the takeover. The other two have agreed to cooperate, but this is vital. I think he's their leader. I think it's most important to break him. That's why I waited for you, Terliss. This is your specialty.)

Nagrit was wrong. I couldn't even question Sofor without trembling like an amateur. This was a gift. His way of rebuilding my confidence. His way of telling me that he thought that had been a hiccup. Uncharacteristic. He'd caught my kill in a cage and was going to let me claim it. I got the sudden, chilling feeling that I didn't deserve this.

Or him.

(Very well. Thank you, Nagrit.)

I entered the brig alone.

The doctor was sleeping, shivering from infection in the long wound on his flank. I took a charge from the Hork-Bair guard and flung it at his force field. A burst of red lightning and loud noise. He snapped violently awake, banging his head on the bulkhead and bruising his stalk eye.

(What—) he started. He swooped his gaze around as the smoke curled toward the ceiling, found me, and glared. (Haven't you harassed me enough for one week?)

(That cut looks bad,) I said. (It must itch terribly.)

(I'll be fine,) he snapped.

(Even I can see that's not true,) I said. He bowed his head in resignation. (Why not just morph it away?)

(Aren't you the one who gives orders to these guards?) He growled impatiently. He tried to rise to his hooves to face me, but stumbled and settled back on the ground.

(Well, I can't have you go morph something microscopic and fool them. Hork-Bajir sight is not great, as you know. And you know how useless you'd be to me if you chose to become some pathetic _nothlit_. Like a _djabala_ or hoober. I'd auction you off as a morsel to my Taxxons, if that were the case.)

(What do you want?)

(I want you alive, Doctor. Nagrit! Bring her inside!)

The door opened, and Nagrit ushered the woman inside, hand on her shoulder. I felt a terrible, pointless spike of jealousy. Even the thought of his hand touching someone else enraged me.

(Oh,) the doctor moaned, scuttling backward. (Please, no. Just let her go. She doesn't have to see this.)

(She can help you,) I said. (She can heal you.)

Nagrit disengaged the force field, and the woman stepped almost catatonically inside.

(I know you're there, my blossom, my _Garibah_…) the doctor said. His tone was vulnerable and sincere, pathetic to someone who couldn't sympathize. (I know you're all right. I know you're still in there. I know you're not foolish enough to give up all hope, just because of this temporary nightmare. I know that you know it's not your fault. That I love you so much, that I'll do everything in my power to get you back. That I...oh for Elder's sake, let her go!)

Nagrit faltered slightly, but quickly righted himself.

She knelt carefully beside him, pressing her hands deftly on the wound. Inspected it gently. He winced from the pressure. She withdrew some disinfecting agent from her kit, sprayed it over and around the site of clotted blood, the raw swelling. Then she took out a dermal regenerator which hummed quietly, like an electric razor, and ran it slowly across his flank, pinching the skin together with her fingertips. About halfway across the arc, she stopped. Shivered. Bowed her head just slightly. And though it was almost silent, she whimpered.

I waited a moment, stepped forward deliberately, and pressed my tail blade to the back of her neck.

(You really are a bitch, you know that?) Terenia growled quietly in my head.

(All right,) the doctor sobbed. (All right, just let her go and I'll do anything you want. Just don't hurt her. She's done nothing. She's innocent. I'll help you. I'll build your Yeerk Pool, please, just let her go.)

(Finish your work, Sub-Visser,) I ordered her.

(Forgive me, sir,) she responded, her voice brittle but recovered.

She finished closing the wound, replaced the regenerator, and then emptied a syringe of some antibiotic into his arm. He gently grazed her elbow with his fingertips, reaching toward her hesitantly, and his gaze never broke from her eyes.

(I'll need to give him another dose in twelve hours,) she said. (But he'll be fine.)

(Thank you, Sub-Visser. You may go.) She rose to her hooves, and just as ghost-like as before, paced out of the cell.

I stared down at the prisoner for a few moments. (I'm holding you to your word, Doctor,) I said. (You do anything that even mildly displeases me, and I'll kill her. She's our only infested doctor, yes, but you don't strike me as the type to let your brethren suffer and die just because they're infected with Yeerks. She's meaningless to me. I have your medical expertise, and that's all I need.)

The doctor was staring out of his cell, almost as catatonic as his wife. (All right,) was all he said.

Nagrit reengaged the force field. (Well done, Terliss,) he said privately to me. It took almost all of my self-control not to smile like a child being praised by her parents.

Nagrit and I left the brig. He still had a lot of work with the duty rosters to finish, but he walked slowly with me, close enough that I could feel the warmth from his flanks radiating over to me.

(We don't know exactly why they can't be infested, but they're under control,) I said. (We'll figure it out with more time.)

(Actually, Terliss, there was one other thing I wanted to mention about—)

I stopped walking and felt another sudden wave of nausea pass over me. The rope had come back alive. I didn't know why.

(Is something wrong, sir?) Nagrit asked, turning a little and watching me with his stalk eyes.

(I don't know.)

(Let us go to your quarters and discuss it,) he offered.

(Who did we put in charge of the military officers, the Andalites, on board this vessel?)

(There are only a handful of them. And I've interviewed each personally. They're fine, Terliss.)

(Has anyone reported difficulty controlling their hosts?)

(No reports of that, sir, though your plan did dictate weekly check-ins with Yeerks who obtained Andalite hosts, since they would be loath to admit any trouble and risk losing them.)

(Yes, I remember that.)

(It really was flawless, sir. I'm incredibly proud of you.) His smile was wide and sincere.

I continued walking slowly down the hallway, placing a hand over my abdomen from another flare of nausea. (Thank you, Nagrit.)

(Something is wrong, sir.)

(What is it? What haven't you told me?)

Nagrit smiled. (Something is wrong _with you_.)

(We have done the impossible, Nagirt,) I sighed, rubbing the nausea away. (We have committed an act so unlikely it was only explored to denounce me.)

(I know, sir.)

(If we can do that, why can't we find a single, Andalite girl?)

(We will find Jennor, sir. You worry about her so much.)

(Yes. I worry about Jennor.)

We reached my quarters and Nagrit opened the door, allowing me inside first.

I stepped inside, feeling the nausea recede, feeling that raw, powerful desire sink down into my body, and as soon as the door was closed, Nagrit descended upon me.

(You are the single greatest living Yeerk in the galaxy,) Nagrit said, fingering my jaw and ear, pressing my back hard, pushing me into him. (You've led an entire race to victory on multiple counts, organized them into an effective, fearsome group, and now you have made history, exploiting such an obscured weakness of our nemesis that no one else could even see it. You are historic, godly, and so beautiful.) He nuzzled my neck at this, and rubbed a spot on my back that made me arch and purr. (And we haven't even heard Jennor's name from anywhere other than within our own circle. She is no one. She is so anonymous that she remains hidden within the folds of her own people's failure. You are a whale of power fighting against a single krill in a school. She is defenseless.)

My hands joined forces in front of me, exploring the muscles between the joints of his front legs, massaging away the tension, which he seemed to enjoy greatly, bucking into my grasp when I grappled something tense and knotted. (Then why do I feel this way?)

Nagrit pulled his arms forward and cupped my face in his hands. (You are a perfectionist, Terliss. It is one of your few flaws. Let us enjoy this tonight, and worry more tomorrow.)

I readied myself for rest, anxious to bury my face in his chest for the remainder of the night, but pulled away at the last moment, remembering an unfinished task.

(Give me five minutes,) I told him. He watched me curiously. (I have a gloating call to make to Earth.)


	35. Chapter Nineteen: Jennor

Chapter Nineteen

PART ONE OF THREE

Jennor

I spun my Shredder around the slick tabletop on its fulcrum. Waiting, like I always was now. I didn't know what for. I pictured the gun misfiring just as it slowed and pointed directly at my heart. I tried to imagine what vaporizing entrails and evaporating blood would feel like. Shredder deaths were supposed to be painless. Perhaps that was a crueler punishment.

Trainer and I had spent almost seven years in the asteroid field. The Yeerks and Andalites remained in stalemate, and despite my introduction to the conflict as a competent soldier, neither Trainer nor I had made any headway in ranks. Father would not be pleased that I had spent over a decade in the war and had not been promoted to the rank of Warrior. Though that rank was only allowed for people who had reached the age of maturity—three age cycles, or roughly 21 years—I had hoped that my skill and talent would have promoted me sooner. It didn't, and we were stuck.

Trainer liked the asteroid field for its lax regulations and what he felt was an overall jovial atmosphere. I didn't know what he was talking about. No one on that asteroid was particularly happy, and whenever we were in our home scoop, and I was in my normal form, I felt emptiness and longing from all around me. Except for Trainer. He was a blemish of contentment.

I watched him as he entered our sparsely furnished scoop and I stood completely still. He breathed in deeply, arched his back, and stretched his tail, slowly making his way over toward me. He placed a hand on my shoulder and ran it up my neck, across my face. I didn't recoil in disgust or aversion. It didn't feel like anything anymore.

(There doesn't seem to be much action on the war front,) he said with a sigh, rubbing his fingers around my ear as if it belonged to him. (War can be quite boring, no?)

I sighed and shifted my gaze outside the door. He grabbed one of my stalk eyes and forced it to look up at him. I felt my body go stiff. My hair sprang erect. My tail blade twitched. It was pointing at him.

(What are you doing, Jennor?) He asked.

(I am going to refill my Shredder, sir,) I said steadily, tempering my fighting instinct, touching his hand in the way he had trained me and carefully uncoiling his fingers from my stalk eye. He allowed his hand to settle into mine.

(Didn't we just do that?) He huffed. He walked beside me, still holding my hand. With the opposite, he grabbed my Shredder, pointed it at my temple, and pulled the trigger. I felt myself jolt in expectation. Nothing happened.

(Ah, you are correct,) he said, weighing it in his hand and placing it back on the table. I glared up at him. (Don't be so surly, Jennor, I trusted you. Besides, it was only set to stun.) He put his hands on my shoulders and slowly ran his fingers up and down my back. I closed my eyes and pictured Terenia doing it, laughing about how silly Andalites were and how wrong I was to want this.

Maybe she'd been right all along.

Trainer released my shoulders and headed to the other end of the scoop, where he kept vitamins, personal effects, and his daily log. I watched him as carefully as he watched me.

(Did I show you how to refill your Shredder?)

(Yes, sir.)

(And you remember everything?)

(I remembered after the first time, sir.)

(How many times did I show you?)

(Three, sir.)

(Ah. Well, perhaps I should do it once more, just to make sure you understand.)

(I understand, sir.)

I pressed the button to disengage the empty Shredder cartridge. Volatile fuel oozed from the opening.

(Careful, Jennor! It's highly combustible!)

(I am aware, sir.)

I watched him carefully, and there was now a hint of concern in his eyes. (Your Form Alpha is nearly impeccable, Jennor.)

(I've had lots of practice, sir.)

I placed the spent cartridge in the disposal wrapping, neutralizing the danger. With a deep breath, one entire stalk eye engaged with Trainer, I grabbed the stiff new cartridge and carefully pulled up the tape that kept it fresh. Trainer gasped, and I felt a bit of the cool, gel fuel squeeze out onto my hand.

(You clumsy fool!) Trainer said, stomping over and immediately pressing a new sheet of neutralizing wrap onto my hand. I felt it burn my skin and warp and stretch my tendons. I watched steam rise from my gurgling flesh, and made no sound, because the pain was the loveliest thing I had felt all day.

I closed my eyes as Trainer cleaned the wound vigorously and without finesse. I felt his fingers inside my hand, and pictured him pulling the tendons like a puppeteer. The image made me laugh.

(Are you all right, Alina?) He asked. I opened my eyes and watched him inspect me.

(What did you call me?) I asked.

(I said Jennor. I said, "Are you all right, Jennor?")

(Yes, sir.)

(You don't believe me?)

(I am all right, sir.)

(Oh.) He pulled away the neutralizing fabric which was soaked in my blood. (Let me get a dermal regenerator.)

I waited as he dug through his supplies, cradling my injured hand in the undamaged one. Blood pulsed through it, washing away old pain and delivering new. Impulses fired through my forearm and up my shoulder. It quivered in agony. Through the distraction, I noticed a difference. My hand was piping hot.

(Is this what being normal feels like?) I wondered aloud. Trainer walked over and pressed the dermal regenerator to the wound.

(No, Jennor. You know what that feels like.)

(Is this what it costs?)

Trainer's sole stalk eye looked away for a moment. I felt a sudden surge of pride and altruistic happiness associated with being a bearer of good news. For a moment, I allowed myself the glowing hope that he would tell me we were going home, but then I realized it wasn't coming from him.

(Someone's coming,) I said, immediately morphing. Trainer pulled the tool away.

(Honestly, Jennor, you're better than a high-capacity scanner,) he said, walking to the entrance of the scoop, shaking off the air of his desire and replacing it with his jovial, welcoming façade. I wondered what would happen if, just once, I didn't herald someone's arrival, but that thought was short-lived.

War-Prince Porrolack walked in.

(War-Prince, what a pleasure and honor it is to see you,) Trainer said, saluting him suavely and indicating that I do the same.

(Prince Tuxebi, a pleasure as well. I haven't spoken to you in a few days, how have you been?)

(Absolutely supreme,) he said with a genuine smile.

(And with conviction,) the War-Prince said with a laugh. (We should promote you to head of morale.)

Trainer bowed in deference, though it was clear even in my current form that it was the last thing he wanted. Porrolack's eyes turned to me.

(I am here about a promotion, but it is not for you.)

He was looking at me when he said it, and I felt a moment of confusion, but Porrolack walked over, stately and proud, and placed a powerful hand upon my shoulder.

(The other Princes and I have discussed your _aristh_, Tuxebi. We think the job he's done is extraordinary enough to merit a long overdue promotion.)

I looked at Trainer, whose eyes had gone blank and tail slack. I took pleasure from this.

(My _aristh_ has not yet reached the age of maturity. I wouldn't want to be responsible for affronting Andalite law.)

One of the War Prince's hard stalk eyes turned toward Trainer. (As it was my decision, I would bear full responsibility should _anyone_ take issue with it,) he said, smiling at me with his main eyes. (But your _aristh_ has shown a level of talent and aptitude that is being sorely wasted as a foot soldier. We'd like to bring him to our command ship across the belt and begin training him for an officer's position. You may even fly your own Dome Ship someday,) he said, squeezing my shoulder.

I was in shock. My eyes were glazed, my mind reeling and tangled. I think I managed a (Thank you, sir,) but I don't know what language I used.

Trainer's rage was so great that I could feel it burn even in my shallow, limited form, and shot him a warning glance to calm down. For a few moments, far too long for me to stay silent, he thought, and suddenly his rage was gone, replaced with smug confidence.

(You bestow such honor upon my _aristh_,) he said. (It is quite a shame that he will be unable to accept.)

(What?) Porrolack and I said simultaneously.

(My _aristh _has recently decided to seek new opportunities in other systems,) Trainer explained. I felt anger and powerlessness boil within me, and my tail kept twitching. (I have already promoted him to the rank of warrior, as it is my right to do, and have allowed him to find new leadership with more experience. Where is it you're headed again, Cristex? _Rakkam Garoo_?

(Thirty seconds of "yes, sir," Jennor, and then you can scream and cry all you want.) He assuaged me privately.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to cease his complete control over me and stab him through the chest, feel his warm blood wash over me and cleanse his sins away. I wanted to tell the truth, but it is against the law for an _aristh_ to contradict their Prince unless someone's life is in danger.

Was my life in danger? No. And the only supreme system I answered to was Andalite Law.

(Yes, sir. _Rakkam Garoo_.)

Trainer's smile was complete. (See? _Rakkam Garoo_. You'll be doing officer's training there already, no?)

(Yes, sir.)

(It is a shame you did not inform me earlier, War-Prince.) Trainer gesticulated.

(A small hiccup we can easily remedy. I know some people in that system, and if your _aristh_ is so inclined, I would like to keep him around.)

(Ah, well that is the unfortunate part. I have already accepted a new _aristh_.)

(Oh?) Porrolack asked. (And who is he?)

(Well sir, that is the part I believe you will appreciate the most. I know you are a progressive, unconventional leader, and would like to see the responsibility of this war spread to as many participants as possible, no?)

(Where are you headed with this, Tuxebi?)

Trainer watched me for a moment, black eyes as inscrutable as ever.

(My new _aristh_ is female,) he said.

I felt the tension in my shoulders melt away as I realized what he was doing. Even if I could think about this more, find some way to accept the promotion without Trainer's blessing, I could not do it as myself. I would be forever condemned to a masculine form, unable to visit Father or Terenia or live as I was meant to. Jennor-Elacable-Barees would die.

And Trainer was giving her back to me.

(I see,) Porrolack said, rubbing his jaw.

(Are you displeased, sir?)

(I am uncertain how I feel about this.)

(I assure you her skill is unmatched. Even Cristex here cannot fight as beautifully as she can. She is well-versed in all forms of tail-fighting, astute with a Shredder, with wits more greatly developed than even many of the leaders in this war.)

I thought he had gone too far, but Porrolack seemed too distracted to notice the insult.

(And how old is she?)

(Two cycles and fifteen months, sir.)

Porrolack continued to rub his face.

(That means she just barely qualifies to be an _aristh_,) he said. (I feel like there's something you're not telling me.)

(Perhaps you should meet her and decide for yourself. She will shuttle in tomorrow.)

Porrolack watched Trainer carefully for a long time, continuing to rub his face. Then, for a moment, he looked at me.

(You're better at this than you look, Tuxebi,) Porrolack said with a sigh. (I am sorry to lose you, _aristh_, but I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. I will be here at 1300 tomorrow.)

The War-Prince left, shaking his head slowly and mumbling to himself.

I demorphed as soon as he left the scoop. Trainer watched me with a victorious smile in his eye.

(You'll never again have to hide who you are, Jennor,) he said, grabbing one of my hands and pulling me close. I closed my eyes as he buried me in his chest, and I concentrated on the truth in what he said.

Jennor-Elacable-Barees would live.


	36. Chapter Nineteen: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

Early the next morning, I "shuttled in" which was the simple matter of psychologically expunging Cristex from my mind. I never had to morph him again, and now that I knew that, it seemed as though he was the one image I couldn't keep at bay.

However, feeling the cold comfort of my own hands against the insides of my elbows, twitching my perfect blade with my powerful muscles, and viewing the insides of people without desire or permission made me feel freer than I had since Andal. It was totally permanent now, shameless and unhidden. I was Jennor-Elacable-Barees, personally and professionally.

Trainer expected thanks for his act. I put my hands up against the wall for the first time all week.

At 1300 hours precisely, War-Prince Porrolack came to inspect me. I thought it would be despicably easy to impress him, with the limited information I already knew about him and the clear vision of his mind and heart I could now obtain. He was charmed by my smile, worried by the vague and devastating view of my time in the war, and sympathetic to my obvious vulnerability and femininity, but he still seemed uncomfortable with me. I wasn't sure why. Porrolock wished me luck, and warned me about how difficult it was going to be to fill my predecessor's hooves, and I said, (yes, they were much bigger than mine.)

Probing everyone was easier than it had been before. Coupling people's emotional histories with facial expressions and posture rather than just listening to random echoes inside our scoop like radio static made me great at my personal, shameful art. Trainer noticed this and said I had to be careful not to make my knowledge obvious.

(People with secrets are always vigilant, Jennor. They run statements through their heads more than once, they carefully scrutinize other's reactions to that dialogue. If they see that you can see them, your own secret may be compromised.)

I promised to keep my revelations hidden.

It was time to get to know everyone else.

I didn't quite know how people would react to a female warrior. Immediately, I found that males behave very differently when a female is present. It's not just a change in conversation or posture, but a change in their entire demeanor. A relaxation they maintain in their own presence vanishes. Spines straighten a little, tail postures extend, hooves lift a little higher than usual. They're not necessarily more polite, just more aware of themselves.

I didn't know how long this would last. I was a female, but could I ever become as invisible as before? Would I submerge into their culture silently? Or would something entirely different happen? Would their respect diminish while their awareness of me remained?

After a while, this happened, but not for the reasons I thought.

The older warriors had a mark on them, a respect and dignity from a different time. A time, perhaps, before there was war. Perhaps they still had memories of peace and hope and optimism. Perhaps they could remember the value of life, the reason we fought, the point of the sacrifice.

The younger warriors did not have this. One day, all the old warriors got called away to a system closer to Andal, and more young warriors flew in. They were without this peace, hope, and belief. I was a memory of their limited time on Andal, trying to achieve everything they wanted with females in far too short a time. I was not a life worth protecting.

(Will you curl that ugly thing flankside for me?) one asked, gazing at my tail blade, as I was walking back to the scoop one day. I ventured from the scoop alone as seldom as possible, but sometimes necessity forced me. (No, she would never give something so precious to someone so undeserving!) His friend howled. (As for me, on the other hand…)

It often became a game to them, a game that drew both combatants and spectators. And I was never a participant. Only the prize. They touched me, slapping my haunches or grabbing the small of my back. It took all of my self-control to keep my tail blade straight and unthreatening. Any open threat against another Andalite at base camp was a crime; if I drew free Andalite blood I could be imprisoned. I slipped up a couple of times, twitching it in a certain direction, which many considered a personal threat. It didn't take much for the boys to report it. I credited this to the fact that dainty female as I was, my tail blade was a true warrior's.

I became numb to most of this as well. Better to feel nothing than all of that.

Most, however, were polite. Most were good. All were desperate, and lonely, and on the brink of collapsing from the weight of isolation and bloodshed and terror, but most found the strength to treat me with respect. And even when they did collapse, when they forced me into some dark alleyway and told me to heal them the only they thought I could, I could appeal to their conscience, their Andalite sensibilities. I could tell them that the only thing they have, the only thing that sets them apart from Yeerks, is choice, that they could still make the right one, and then they would let me go. Some even apologized profusely and followed through on promises to watch out for me, to protect me from others who collapsed.

Some, however, were not good. They would force me into dark alleyways. They would hear no entreaty. And they would not let me go.

I knew that was how it was always going to be. And it made me feel empty.

I would have lost everything if not for a terrible and necessary hope I desperately clung to. It was the single glimmer in the fog, the one thing that made it possible to still feel pain.

Father would come for me if I asked.

I always wondered if it was time. If the time had already come and gone. If the time was still ahead of me. At what point would I be a coward? At what point would I be crazy for not doing it sooner? When would it be right? What would he think when I called him?

I was inside of the scoop once again, unclogging the dust from my hooves, idly replaying this argument in my head. Trainer walked in with a friend he'd made in the last arrival of young warriors.

(_Aristh_, this is Borrifum,) he said. (We won't be long. I need to show him the Shredder I want out of the annual catalog.) I saluted curtly, returning to the inspection of my hooves.

(I hate doing that,) Borrifum said to me as Trainer dug through his personal belongings. (A trick I learned is to drink your leg full and then regurgitate all of the water and mud.)

(I tried that, but it tastes awful,) I responded.

(Makes me long for dirt that doesn't stick to everything,) he sighed. (And grass you can swallow after one bite.)

(I don't remember ever eating grass so tender,) I said.

Trainer reappeared as Borrifum's eyes narrowed. (How old were you when you left the homeworld?)

(Two cycles,) I responded, watching Trainer's eyes.

(Of course,) Borrifum said with a slight bow.

(Look at this. It fits right into the gut of your elbow so you only need one arm to operate it. And it has twice the power of the model fours,) Trainer said, eyeing me and showing the catalog to Borrifum.

(I'll see if I can requisition a couple for us. It was good to meet you, _aristh_.) He smiled to me. It was genuine and it caught me off-guard.

(Likewise,) I answered, probing into his mind slightly more deeply. There were no dark secrets darkly hidden, unlike Trainer—Borrifum's mind was a relatively open field for me to graze upon. He was as content as anyone in open combat could be, without overabundance of envy or spite or vindictiveness, which were staples in Trainer's mind. He wasn't particularly bright—thought did not transcend normal courses of everyday worry and routine—but those things in his worry and routine seemed benign. He smiled again, noting the depth of my gaze in that selfish way men do, and exited the scoop.

(You didn't want a new Shredder, did you?) Trainer asked. I glanced up at him. His anger was evident without infiltration into his mind.

(I just refilled mine, sir,) I responded.

(Of course.)

(Why are you angry, sir?)

His eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. (Stop reading me, _aristh_,) he ordered.

(Yes, sir.)

Though Trainer had brought many friends home before, Borrifum was the first I had known entirely as myself. I was impressed that he didn't openly treat me any differently than warriors had before I'd made the permanent switch to female, and even more impressed by the way he thought of me. I was still too young to be an adult, but I was far along enough in my third cycle, typically regarded as the cycle of change, to be viewed as a woman rather than a girl. Most warriors were crude when viewing me. Some were hopeful, others despondent. Borrifum had carnal thoughts, as everyone did, but he deflected them in shame.

Trainer never really saw me. The only way he could keep the guilt and self-hate away were to look past me.

I liked when Borrifum came to visit. I wasn't captive with him. I wasn't an aspiring warrior. For bits of time in our interaction, I felt as unguarded and careless as I'd been with Terenia. He told me jokes, and I laughed, more from need than genuine reaction. He asked me about my past, which I thought was sweet, even though I had to lie. And, most of all, he didn't report our conversations back to Trainer. In a small, convoluted, twisted way, I could be myself around him.

One day, while Trainer was out running a sole errand, Borrifum came to visit me alone.

(Hello, Jennor, I got something I think you may like,) he said, entering with his arm behind his back, a big smile plastered in his stalk eyes. The image of a hoof-cleaning tool completely filled his mind. By this time, I was good at acting surprised.

(That is very kind, Warrior,) I said as he showed me the tool. He approached hesitantly, beginning a risky new plan. He knelt down and lifted one of my front hooves. I felt a sudden surge of fear, but an involuntary whisper of trust quieted it.

(Its operation is very simple,) he said, touching the bristle-covered end of it to the fleshy inside of my hoof. (Open up,) he said, and I obeyed. (Just turn it on, and it draws all the muck down.) I felt prickles of pain followed by cool, satisfying clarity as the tool worked.

(That is wonderful,) I mused as I felt eight years' worth of gunk excavate my hooves. I felt a tingle of something warm and electric come from Borrifum. I looked down, catching him staring at me. His eyes were big and horrifyingly honest.

(You are so beautiful,) he said quietly. I breathed in deeply and shrugged indifferently in response. Borrifum blinked, realizing what he had just done, assaulted with shame. (No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that. Not that it's a lie. I just shouldn't say it.)

(Don't worry about it.)

(No, it was disrespectful and rude. Immature. Unprofessional. You're a warrior, and I should treat you with the same dignity I treat my fellow warriors.)

(I'm just an _aristh_.)

(You're missing the point. It shouldn't be said. I shouldn't see you that way.)

(You can't change the way you see me.)

Borrifum looked away, shaking his head. He pulled the device from my hoof too quickly and I felt it scratch the tender skin within. (I'm sorry. Here.) He handed it to me.

(Borrifum, wait,) I said as he got up to leave. (I'm not upset.)

(It doesn't matter. I'm upset.)

(Don't be,) I said, reaching out towards him from some ridiculous, hidden instinct granted to every sentient species with opposable thumbs. I grabbed his upper arm with both hands and tugged him selfishly back towards me.

He froze instantaneously. Immediately I realized my mistake and snatched my hands away. His stalk eye turned toward me slowly, totally changed, no longer kind and patient but black and delirious with rage.

(I'm sorry,) I breathed, rubbing my frigid hands and blowing hot air from my lungs in them. (I'm sorry, I didn't mean—)

(You Hermilian scum,) he raged quietly in Form Alpha, with more hatred and meaning than any of Trainer's tantrums. (You bewitched me, manipulated me. You planned my unraveling from the beginning!) He raised his tail in attack and I readied mine from sheer instinct. I had no idea what he was talking about.

(Borrifum, please calm down, we can discuss—)

(No more discussions!) He cried as his tail flung through the roof of our scoop and crashed down upon mine. I blocked, and the sound was blunt but loud. I wondered how many people could see it. I parried his blow away from the door and prepared to run for it.

(No you don't, you blood filth, you mar on the good Andalite name,) he reeled, leaping clumsily over the table and rushing toward me. Another blow cut through the top of our scoop and I blocked. Our tail blades were tangled, but mine was longer. I twitched my tail blade around and sliced his clean off.

He was defeated. He was castrated, powerless. Professional tailfighting rules, in either the exhibition or tournament setting, dictate a dismembered tail blade as an automatic win.

But he kept coming at me.

(No true Andalite will suffer you ever again.) He wrapped his hands around my neck as my tail flailed, begging to be used. His grip was uncertain and weak, and I kept pushing his hands away, until finally one of his fingers made its way toward my eye socket and I had to knock him out.

I paced frantically until Trainer returned, going over the events in my mind. Of course I knew it was taboo for Andalites to touch acquaintances with their hands. Of course I knew that Father had always told me to keep my hands warm. Why had I never thought that the two were related?

Why had I never foreseen this?

Trainer returned right after dusk. Borrifum had already begun to stir twice. I didn't know how many more times I could hit him without killing him.

(What did you do?!) He demanded shrilly, dropping to his knees and inspecting his friend.

(He attacked me.)

His stalk eye turned slowly back towards me, filled with fury and panic. (What did you do?) He repeated slowly.

(I touched him. He called me a Hermilian. He tried to choke me after I cut off his tail blade! He tried to kill me with his hands!)

(Then he is as good an Andalite as you suspected,) Trainer spat.

Borrifum's tantrum, Trainer's cold appraisal, and my own terror overwhelmed me. The weight of grief descended on my mind and hearts. I clutched my head at the base of my stalk eyes.

(Stop weeping like an infant, Jennor. Hand me my Shredder.)

I did as instructed and covered my eyes with my cold hands. (What did he mean?)

(By what? Trying to kill you?)

(What's an Hermilian?)

(You are, Jennor.)

(I didn't do anything to him.)

(It's not something you earn. You were born with it.) Trainer twisted a few knobs on his Shredder and nearly loosened the focusing lens. He held the end of the gun against Borrifum's temple, placed a folded thermal blanket over his hand, and pulled the trigger. My gasp was louder than the muted sound it made. He pulled his hand from the blanket. It was covered in blood.


	37. Chapter Nineteen: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

(Damn backfire,) he muttered. (Stop standing there like a _vecol_ and help me!)

I grabbed the thermal blanket and tried to tie it around his headless neck, but my hands were trembling too badly. Trainer pushed me out of the way and tied an efficient tourniquet around the stump, further sealing arteries that had already been cauterized.

(Why did we have to kill him?) I asked, trying to calm the trembling in my hands and the sickness in my legs.

(No one can know, Jennor.)

(But did we really—)

(No one can know!)

He turned to me suddenly, black eyes blazing, and grabbed my shoulders tightly. (It's been nearly sixteen years and you still don't know what you are. Either you're mentally deficient or I have done a perfect job protecting you. Which is it, Jennor?)

I stared into his hard eyes, trying to read, but his mind was moving far too fast and illogically to make any sense.

(What am I, sir? Why did he try to kill me?)

Trainer's grip loosened but he didn't let go. He kept one stalk eye on Borrifum's body, one on the entrance to the scoop, and his main eyes on mine.

(You are an Hermilian, Jennor. The only thing true Andalites hate more than Yeerks.)

(But I am an Andalite,) I said, wondering why I suddenly doubted the claim.

(To me, yes. To you, yes. To anyone who hasn't touched your hands, yes. But you belong to a race forever abhorred and feared. A race with a longer record of war with Andalites than any other species in the galaxy. A race that has enslaved, tortured, and cleansed dozens of Andalite tribes throughout history.)

My head was shaking slowly, pressure of fear and self-hatred behind my eyes. (No, I haven't done...I wouldn't do...)

(Of course not. The hate is completely irrational, but the prejudice is not.)

His hands traveled down my arms and wrapped themselves around mine.

(Freezing, no?)

(I didn't mean to touch him,) I said.

(But you meant to read him, and you did. You read him like you read me. And it doesn't bother me, because I have absolutely nothing to hide from you. But you could understand how some people would be put off by having all of their deepest secrets as visible as the Elder sun! Your hands,) he said, squeezing them too tightly, (are the only defense we normal Andalites have. It's the only way we can know what you're capable of, what you're really doing when you're staring into our eyes. And that is why it is _vital_ that no one ever find out again.)

He folded my arms for me, one under each armpit. I turned away from him.

(I hate it as much as they do,) I sobbed. (I don't want to see half of what people show me.)

(It doesn't matter until you want to see none of it, Jennor. It is a useful tool, and you shouldn't be so ashamed that you stop using it. But if you ever repeat tonight's mistake,) he gestured to the cooling corpse in our scoop, (the results will be just as...unfortunate.)

He walked over to the corpse and kicked it with his front hoof. (Shouldn't go playing with girls you can't control anyway,) he huffed, sighing, massaging his temples with thumb and middle finger. (You never grab for me, Jennor.)

(Sir?)

(We need to dispose of his body. We'll shuttle evidence to an asteroid the census division hasn't scoured yet. Fortunately for us, besides his fixation on you, Borrifum was a bit of a loner.)

Trainer left to retrieve an empty syringe from the medical scoop while I waited with Borrifum. I was sick with worry, fear, and this poisonous new revelation about myself. I hated myself more deeply than I ever had before. A man died simply because of my carelessness. And I was not unfamiliar with death—one thing that had gotten me noticed as Cristex was a battle in which I slaughtered eight Hork-Bajir single-handedly—but I had never felt more directly responsible than right now. I rubbed my hands together in shame, waiting, wondering, and for some silly, stupid reason, I tried to read him. I knelt tenderly beside him and pressed my hand to the stump of his neck. In death, there was nothing, save the warmth of his body still slowly bleeding into entropy, and a strange calmness and acceptance. There was no more resistance post mortem. No care, hope, responsibility. Borrifum slowly bled into oblivion.

Once Trainer extracted a suitable sample from Borrifum, he slowly vaporized his corpse with his Shredder, and I could feel that rancid smell soak into the scoop forever. I knelt on the ground as ordered, cleaning up the remaining stain, watching Trainer, who stood at the center table, leaning away from me, shoulder blades peeled up from his back like industrial light switches. I halted my task and watched him, resisting all temptation and instinct to infiltrate him.

(What do you see, _aristh_?)

(Nothing.)

(What, are you shy now?)

(I don't want to do it anymore.)

Trainer laughed, shifting the weight off his left hooves to his right. (Come here, Jennor.)

I slowly rose to my hooves, inching over the silver dust, hands feebly positioned behind my back. He watched me, unblinking and mechanical. I got the feeling something terrible was about to happen. I refused to read him, but it was clear he had a new plan.

(Grab me like you grabbed him.)

I hesitantly wrapped my hands around his upper arm.

(No, Jennor, just like you grabbed him.)

I pulled my hands away and assaulted him the way I had Borrifum.

(I see.)

I let go of him and took a step back. He scoffed.

(You've never touched me voluntarily, Jennor,) he said, shaking his head slowly. (Every time I pull away from you, your thoughts turn to jubilation. Never resistance. You never resist me when I want to leave you alone.)

I took another step back.

(I don't want to terrify you, Jennor. I don't mean to scare you. I wish you could...) he sighed and bowed his head, shoulder blades shifting to the "off" position. (What did you see in him? How did he behave differently than I do?)

I'd released eye contact with him long ago, but I could feel his searching gaze. (He was just...nice.)

(He was nice?)

(Yes.)

(You liked him because he was nice.)

(Yes, sir.)

(Don't call me sir, this is off the record, you have permission to speak freely. Am I not...nice?)

I stared at my hooves. (You're an effective Prince.)

(But not a nice one.)

(What should I say?)

(Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what I can do to be more like him.)

Throughout everything he'd done to me, I'd never felt more uncomfortable. He'd taken everything he wanted from me, and now he expected me to react in a way that was impossible. How could I lie? How could I grant him what he wanted without betraying the vitality within me?

(I don't know, sir,) I sighed in surrender.

Trainer rubbed his temples again, then snapped his head back. (I know what to do. A gift. That's all your Father had to do, give you a crusty old Shredder and tie a leather strap around your waist. And Borrifum gave you that ridiculous hygienic instrument! I've known you over a decade and I've never gotten you a gift. That's what people do. What do you want, Jennor? What can I get for you?)

He turned to me, approaching jerkily, crazed desperation in his eyes. I refused to read invasively, but everything in his mind was clear. Something in him had snapped. Today was perhaps the worst day of his life.

(I want nothing, sir.)

(Tuxebi, Jennor.)

(Tuxebi,) I repeated, the sound like a curse in my mind.

(There has to be something you want. Something you've wanted for years and have never before had the inclination to ask. Anything, Jennor. I'll give you anything.)

(Anything?)

(You do want something! What is it, Jennor, please?)

His arms were wrapped around my waist, holding me close. I was tall enough now that I could see into his eyes without much effort. His hands gripped the sensitive muscles on my back, nails digging deep within my skin. It felt like nothing. Always felt like nothing.

(I want to go home, Tuxebi.)

His hands fell to his sides. The fire in his eyes extinguished. He stared at me blankly for a few moments. I'd never, before that second, realized how far away a place it was, how strange and foreign it would be if I ever returned. And suddenly, without any warning, the dam broke and twelve years' worth of homesickness washed down upon me.

(Leave me, Jennor.)

I was still touching him. I acquired him before I left.

I didn't care if he figured it out. I didn't care if he would reprimand me, hurt me, even kill me. I had to go home. I had to see my Father again. I had to see Terenia. I had to bury myself in his chest and cry away all my problems. I had to beg forgiveness for failure. I had to tell him to come get me. It wouldn't matter if he was ashamed. I just had to get away.

Waiting the last few hours for Tuxebi to retire was more excruciating than any of the tortures he had put me through. There is nothing more painful than hope. Nothing worse than wondering if the plan you have designed will come to fruition, if the things you want are attainable at all.

I waited until two hours after he usually fell asleep, pacing around the cantonment frantically. I morphed into his pathetic form within an unoccupied scoop and made my way to the ship lot. Unfamiliar faces passed me on the way, greeting me, smiling at me. I stared straight ahead.

I found our ship with some difficulty, but still within the two-hour limit. I opened the hatch and walked inside. I inputted the code, said, (Prince Tuxebi-Vardan-Delletin,) and thought with every shred of confidence I could muster the combination of his psychic lock. Twin suns, _Garibah_, Blade Ship, tail-blade shaped mountain, rusty, unkempt scoop, beautiful girl with eyes like mine—the computer whirred in a friendly tone and turned green.

(Welcome Prince Tuxebi. Last long-out time: three-hundred eleven hours ago.)

(Open a communications channel to Andal.)

The artificial image of a bored, old warrior appeared. (Contact designation?) The computer asked.

(Warrior Sofor-Elacable-Halladran,) I said with no confidence.

(A few moments while I connect you.)

I began demorphing while the screen rotated and loaded. I felt thrills of sudden fear and anticipation run through me. What would he think when he saw me? How happy would he be that I was all right?

The screen went white and my cheeks burned. (Who is calling at this ungodly hour?) He demanded as I finished demorphing.

He looked so much older than when I had left. Skin crinkled like dried sand around his eyes, his scar etched its way across his face lazily. Hair sprung from his ears, tufts of it surrounded his stalk eyes like weeds. He looked so weak now. Like he'd decomposed rather than flourished in my absence. When had he lost his resolute power?

Despite this, pity flooded me, mixing with the love that had been multiplying for years, and it nearly burst out of me as tears. I tried to keep myself composed, tried to organize my thoughts so we could finally reunite.

(Father, please listen, I—)

(I told you never to call here again,) he interrupted, voice cold and heartbreaking. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes apathetically as he continued. (I've already told you I've done everything I can. There's nothing left to do.)

Brittle, strained hearts shattered into thousands of shards and melted, irreparable. The light in the fog extinguished. The tips of my fingers went numb, crawling up my arms in gray, poisonous streams, carrying ash and mist as dead as concrete.

His eyes opened a little wider. My hand was already over the log-out button. ("Father?" Jennor, is that—)

When I turned around, Trainer was watching me, arms crossed in front of him. His posture was calm and comprehensive. But his eyes were insane.

(Just take it,) I said to him in a whisper. (Just take all that's left.)


	38. Chapter Twenty: Jennor

Chapter Twenty

Jennor

PART ONE OF FOUR

The rainy weather was difficult to navigate as birds of prey. The boy had a sea-faring morph better suited to handle moisture. He used his Northern Harrier morph instead. He decided that the only thing stranger than two birds of prey flying together was a bird of prey flying with a seagull that was already rather far inland.

We reached the mall much later than I anticipated. The boy had set the pace. He was not reaching speeds I knew we could attain. He said it was to conserve our energy. That we shouldn't rush while carrying so much. I did not argue.

We landed. We demorphed. We clothed ourselves. I quickly prepared. Time rushed by too quickly. Mistakes seemed inevitable. I was working under some invisible, imaginary deadline. I applied my aural holographic emitter. I tied one in my belt loop to conceal my Shredder. My fingers faltered. The _aristh_'s slipped through my fingers. It fell to the oily ground.

(That's the last one I have,) I told him. I retrieved it. I hastily wiped away the scum with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

(You got into the Yeerk Pool using holographic emitters?) He asked, hardness to his voice.

(Yes,) I said. I handed him the small earpiece. He stared at me a moment before taking it.

(This is sneaky,) he said. He placed his finger inside his ear.

(It is necessary.)

(I want to kill Yeerks, Jennor, I don't want to walk in, buy coffee, and chat with Controllers about real estate and governmental politics and other human concerns.)

(There will be no coffee today,) I said. I stretched my arms and legs. I headed out across the gravel-covered rooftop of the mall. Sharp pebbles stabbed my feet and crept between my toes. The _aristh_ followed too closely behind.

I could hear his rapid breath accelerate as we walked. It drilled from his nostrils. His toes skimmed my heels. Now I did not seem to be going fast enough for him. The deadline clicked closer.

Few humans noticed the trail of rain water and dust dragged into the waxed linoleum from the cuffs of our pants. I had the feeling that every human we crossed was a Controller. Eating pretzels, browsing textiles, chatting on cell phones. All searched our eyes in quick glances, wondering if we were comrades in arms. I did not know what my eyes told them. None of them stopped us, bare feet and all.

We walked inside the Gap. We were greeted by a smiley employee. I had seen her down in the pool before. She gave me a slight nod. I curtly returned it.

It was a rainy weekday. Still early. The store should have been empty. There were a few people standing around. They were not browsing or shopping in any sense. They were waiting. Some recognized me. Some did not. The _aristh_ was quivering. He still breathed in a way that disquieted me.

He and I headed into the dressing room. I shut the door. I looked at him for the first time. He was soaking wet. Steam curled off of his flesh. His first were clenched, wrist tendons snapping and crackling. He stood too close to me, eagerness and rage radiating as visibly as the steam. I felt some sort of calm sense of acceptance wash over me. I closed my eyes. I opened them. The boy and I saw each other for a heavy, uncomfortable moment. I had the strange feeling I had given something away. We looked away.

(Are you ready?) I asked him.

(Open the door, sir.)

We headed down the steps. We entered the buzzing horror of the Yeerk Pool.

We nearly smashed into two Human Controllers carrying drinks from the nearby bar as we scattered off of the long staircase. Their relaxed contentment juxtaposed with the desperate screaming and pleading from the cages sent a lurch through my stomach. I swallowed. I quieted it. The boy's expression of determined fury had not changed.

(I am required to mine one last section of the Yeerk Pool,) I said to the boy. His eyes were fixed upon the panoptical bay window that Visser Three viewed the pool from. I saw that the visser was there. He stood. His arms were folded behind his back in a familiar stance. His tail cast a shadow between his eyes. He gazed below. I felt another surge of panic that quickly turned to calmness. (Once finished, I will incapacitate the Taxxon guard. Then I will reset the temperature of the floor.)

(I'll do it,) the boy said. He immediately took off across the pool. I nearly grabbed for him. I stopped myself. A sudden, strange movement might endanger the surreptitious nature of the mission.

The boy walked quickly, tall, jerkily. I felt a rise of heat in my chest. I ignored it and headed to the center of the complex.

It was more difficult than normal to mine the pool now. The multitude of Controllers impeded my effort. Hork-Bajir shuttling involuntary hosts back and forth from the pool bumped past me. I efficiently allowed individual mines to slip through my fingers. I drove them into the grout with my toes. Equal spaces between them. Mechanized, systematic destruction. The kind the Yeerks excelled at.

I was making good time. Controllers ignored me. I'd already filled an area two square meters large. I thought we may finish before noon.

An atmosphere-shattering, ear splitting scream echoed cacophonously around the acoustic dome. It multiplied and grew shriller. I sliced my toe open on a jagged tile edge. I looked up. I didn't need to search. I knew exactly from where the chaos had sprung.

The boy was standing over the control panel. His tail blade stabbed through the tender face of the Taxxon technician. The dying beast, twitching from cranial trauma, did not know whether to ingest itself or flee from its advancing brothers. The boy twisted his blade and pulled it out with unnecessary force. Bits of Taxxon brain and inky, black blood sprayed all over his torso and steely, decisive face.

The effect was not immediate. Everyone stood still in silent shock for a moment. They stared blankly at the gory scene. Then panic and chaos sprung loose. A sense of disappointment and annoyance gave the terror a strange aftertaste. They were used to being slaughtered.

The screams that normally defined the circumference of the Pool overwhelmed me. I was not finished planting my mines. This did not upset me. I stuffed the rest back in the pouch on my sweatshirt. I headed toward the control panel. Two rushing, squirming Taxxons knocked me down. I scraped both knees and the palms of my hands. I got up. I felt the invisible Shredder on my holster. Its time would be soon.

I arrived at the control panel_. _I inched in along the wall behind the _aristh_. He fought off every spare shock troop that approached him. His tail quivered and lunged. His fur puffed out. His thought speech was dense and wordless. I could almost sense the sour taste of revenge spilling into the air.

Then I sensed something else. A shadow crept over us. An Andalite silhouette that belonged to no Andalite at all.

(Leave him to me,) the visser seethed to the Yeerks. They backed off reluctantly: Taxxons hissing, humans muttering laughter, Hork-Bajir hacking. Visser Three stepped up to confront the boy.

I crouched. I slowly hobbled toward the control panel, pressed up against the rock wall of the dome. My eyes were drawn to the duel. The visser outweighed the boy by nearly 25%. His strength and experience were evident simply from the way he held himself. His arms hung at loose, relaxed angles. His chest, torso, flanks, and back were blanketed by rippling, coiled muscles. Tanning skin, straight posture, breadth and mass. Dignity. The boy was very clearly young. His arms fidgeted. His fists clenched. He stood just about as tall. His frame was still lanky, immature. I watched his stalk eyes, swiveling and frantic and amateurish. His tail twitched with misplaced energy. He was raw. He was fuming. He was ready.

I was not sure which of the two would lose.

(You humiliate me by challenging me alone,) the visser said. I ducked beneath the control panel. My hand reached for the dial on the panel above me. I turned it to maximum. (But your arrogance will bring me victory.)

The _aristh_ was consumed by his rage, his desire for revenge, his obligation to honor his brother and family. This was his moment. He'd made it his moment.

(Your very existence is the greatest humiliation and insult of all,) the boy countered. He made the first strike: a wild, obvious killing blow. The Visser blocked effortlessly. He parried his tail blade away.

(What will you do without your menagerie of friends?) the Visser laughed. He struck. He was aiming for the boy's neck. The boy blocked two feet closer than I would have. (You will lose, young boy. You've already surrendered your life to me.)

I stood up. The Visser's stalk eye followed me.

(Get away from there, you fool, this area belongs to me and the bandit.)

(Then it belongs to me as well.) I demorphed. I ripped off my sweatshirt and pants and stuffed what would fit into my holster. I raised my Shredder at the visser. His eyes widened in surprise followed by glee. (Leave the boy alone.)

(This is my fight, Jennor! Get out of here!)

I ignored him. I advanced upon the Visser. His eyes continued laughing. Then they went blank, shocked by some revelation I could not identify.

(You are as female as your morph,) He gasped. My stalk eyes emerged. My tail unfurled. All his eyes turned to me. (Are you the girl we've been looking for?)

The boy's tail blade flew with precision. At the last moment, he performed a successful_ torf_, hitting the visser square in the temple with the greatest possible amount of force. The visser reeled for a moment before collapsing. His hooves scattered. He clutched the side of his head. Still conscious. Stronger than the boy. The _aristh_ raised his blade again. He prepared for a more injurious strike. Perhaps the last he would ever need. I saw a battalion of Hork-Bajir unleashed from their barracks, stampeding toward us. I lunged in between the _aristh_ and the visser.

(Your death rite is not the priority,) I said. I raised my Shredder at him. If he injured or killed the visser, focus would be shifted to him. I may be ignored entirely. I could not allow my _aristh_ to suffer such retribution, nor could I afford to have Yeerk forces concentrate away from the pool. They were supposed to die there, die with me standing at the center of their contempt.

He stared at me for a moment. It was a look filled with disbelief and indignation. (Amazing that a human child could be a better prince than you,) he spat. His voice was saturated in hate. He devoted every ounce of his willpower to turning away from the visser and toward me.

Yeerks were scattering everywhere—human Controllers seeking exits, Taxxon Controllers taking dripping chunks out of victims as they ran, Hork-Bajir attempting to reform ranks to stop us. My legs slowed as the boy cantered ahead.

(We should escape now before chaos erupts,) he said, tail twitching.

(No,) I said. His tail stopped fidgeting. I glanced behind me. I saw a task force of about a dozen Hork-Bajir coming for us.

(What exactly is the plan here, sir?)

I stopped running. The approaching onslaught of Hork-Bajir was close enough to smell, to radiate heat and sweat. The boy skittered to a stop.

(Take out as much of the pool as we can,) I said. (Escape and self-preservation are not the priority.)

(Then what is the priority?) He cried. He dismembered both of a Hork-Bajir's arms and stabbed a second up through the jaw. The rest quickly enveloped us.

_Destroy everything, _I thought as he began to fight with a third Hork-Bajir. Their blades clashed like splintering blocks of wood.

I spun my stalk eyes around, taking a quick tally of all the shock troops we faced. Too many. I raised my Shredder.

I fired.

The beam darted out of my Shredder and decapitated a Hork-Bajir. I fired again. This time, nothing.

I had been too focused on the mines. I had forgotten to refuel my Shredder. My pulse slowed in relaxation.

I continued to fire. My aim was precise and calm. My Shredder functioned a little over half of the time. My tail flew to meet proximate threats. Hork-Bajir were coming at us faster than we could kill them. Taxxons, hunger momentarily satisfied, joined them. Even some humans with crude, powerful firearms joined them.

I took another quick tally of our opponents. Their force had doubled in size. I felt a deeper relaxation descend upon my chest as this thought flowed and encapsulated my mind.

We were going to lose.


	39. Chapter Twenty: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

Some sound loud enough to reinvigorate the chaos emerged from one of the staircases not far away. It was so loud that it almost ceased being sound and became something different. A feeling, reverberating through my chest. Vibrating between my eyes. Drilling into my brain.

A roar.

I could see the orange and black blur even from where I was standing. The _aristh_ decapitated a Hork-Bajir right in front of me. I felt its blood hit my chest with tiny _thwack_s.

The Animorphs fought their way over. They tore through flesh and fire. The mines hadn't exploded yet. Any moment now, either the floor would be sufficiently heated or a poorly aimed Dracon Beam shot would set them off.

They reached us. They penetrated the circle of Yeerks who had us surrounded. Now I felt overcome by an even more threatening enemy. A wolf, the hawk, the tiger…there were two more, I knew that—

(What is going on? Is this the lady Andalite?) A gorilla asked as he leapt onto the back of a Hork-Bajir. I shot another on maximum. His body vaporized. Waves of crippling heat and stench crashed over everything. I spun my stalk eyes around again. I tried to spot the final human. The air was stinging. It burned my eyes. It was charged with diffused Dracon fire. The smell of smoldering flesh and blood overwhelmed. Thirst glued my shins shut. Sweat tickled and flung off my flanks. I could see no more than a few feet. I would be overcome.

Then, it happened.

Piercing pain assaulted my shoulders and ribs. My sense of direction and self-orientation was ripped from me. I was looking sideways from a position on the ground. I was unaware how I got there. Stars impaired my peripheral vision. I swung bruised stalk eyes around. I saw a huge, furry head. It dripped sweat and drool. It stared down at me from behind.

The final Animorph.

Slowly, I realized her paws were pressed into my ribs and back. Her claws dug roughly into my flesh. Her massive weight compacted my skeleton. I could feel my joints creaking. They threatened to buckle from the weight. My tail and legs flailed dazed and useless. Shaggy, brown fur, rippling like a field of wheat in wind, quivered suddenly, aggravated by a deafening, defiant roar.

For a moment, I was sure I was dead. I realized I wasn't.

I was slightly disappointed.

(What are you doing?) The _aristh_ yelled. The bear continued to sneer. She growled in a deep place in her throat. I tried to breathe. My body would not allow it.

(The pool will explode any moment now,) I said to her. (You need to get yourselves out of here.)

(So what? You get to have all the fun?) The bear asked.

(Please just save yourselves,) I said as she let me up. She tugged me to my hooves by my forearm, leaving a series of bloody bite marks in an elongated V. I breathed in. A spike of pain froze my diaphragm. She'd snapped a rib that now jutted into my left lung. My legs wobbled. My shoulder was dislocated. A clavicle had been shattered. It didn't matter. The Yeerks continued to advance.

The stench of blood was everywhere: burned, singed, flowing. The tiger had an uncleanly severed Hork-Bajir hand positioned well enough in his mouth that he used it as a weapon. The wolf and hawk were acting as shepherds. They organized the Hork-Bajir into an effective stream that the larger brutes handled away from the pool. Gorilla fists left crippling dents and bloody holes wherever they landed. The bear had enough momentum to barrel through any obstacle, rounding everything into a tighter and tighter circle.

They were headed to the cages.

The Animorphs were intent on saving lives. Their goal was the exact opposite of mine.

The visser's Andalite Bandits were stealing away my victims. I had to come up with a plan to bring more Yeerks in and ensure their destruction. I had to bring them closer. My tail flailed in rage. Hork-Bajir took cautious steps backwards. They seemed unsure who to subdue. Frustration boiled within me. This was not how it was supposed to play out.

I sheathed my Shredder and began screaming:

(Come kill an Andalite, Yeerks! Come enjoy Andalite flesh on your blades! Come to the pool and show your Visser your quality!)

I waved my arms. I screamed in my Andalite voice. I waved my tail like a beacon. A highly unnatural, though effective, device. It drew them in. I would be here when the pool exploded, surrounded by them, sent back together to the entropy from which we'd all emerged.

All the better.

(What is she doing? She's going to get herself killed!) The tiger growled, finally embedding the wrist blade of the severed hand in a Taxxon's globular eye. I saw the _aristh_ slice open a Taxxon like a package of liverwurst. The fury was gone from his eyes, now replaced with frustration. He bounded over to me.

(You have made this mission much more difficult than I anticipated,) he said, grabbing for my holster. He pulled me towards him.

(Let go, _aristh_.) He decapitated a Hork-Bajir that probably would have killed me.

(We have no time to—)

(Leave me!) I yanked my Shredder back. I removed it from its holster. I pointed the gun at him. More confident now, he kept his main eyes on me. He fought using his stalk eyes, neutralizing threats behind him.

(You meant for this to happen. You meant not to survive this fight. You coward,) he whispered, lunging again for my gun.

(Get yourself out, _aristh_.)

(You already took the visser from me. I'm not letting you go, too.)

The first of the mines exploded, releasing an electric blue, charcoal-grill sized explosion. I did not know whether a Dracon Beam or the floor had set it off.

I was distracted for a moment, watching the curling blue fire with a surprised, self-satisfied intensity. The boy slapped the gun from my hand with his tail blade, grabbed it, and pressed both up against my throat. I gazed at him incredulously. I twitched my tail in confusion.

(We're getting out of here. Now,) he said, pressing his blade into my throat and pushing me towards an exit.

I caught one last glimpse of the pool before we disappeared up a stairwell. It was in chaos. I had drawn a large number of Yeerks over to the pool, most of whom were confused enough to ignore my sudden escape. One of them had helped their visser flee to safety. The Animorphs were fighting off threats as they opened cages and released human hosts. They were safe.

I did not see the explosion. I felt the concussions in the resonant rock as the _aristh_ dragged my uncooperative form up the steps. I put a cold hand against the wall, imagining the fire swallowing flesh, the molten liquid in the Pool sizzling and evaporating, the Yeerks within it turning to hard, raisened little versions of themselves. Taxxons getting their first taste of cooked meat as their last meal. Bloody pus streaming from Hork-Bajir eyes. Humans, hair aflame, skin charred and bubbling. For a moment, I thought I heard the loud, echoey sounds of different races screaming out in pain. This was replaced by an eerie, lingering silence.

We made it to the dressing room, somehow. I didn't remember much of the trip up. The _aristh_ was upset with me for some reason. I was severely more upset with him.

I morphed to human immediately upon entering the small room. I put on my shirt quickly. I'd lost my jeans in the chaos. Another pair some shopper had abandoned was lying at the foot of the dressing room. They were tight against my hips and would not latch closed.

I could not look at the boy. He was too angry to do anything. (Some prince,) he said as he handed me my Shredder and finally began to morph. (The worst part of this whole thing is that—)

A loud smash, a sudden blow to my chest, wind ripped from my lungs. I stumbled backwards, tearing through the grated door as easily as if it were cardboard. The mirror pancaked and shattered over my right arm. Splinters of glass combed through my skin, mixing with red human blood. I landed hard on my back, hitting my head, dazed. The _aristh _was on his hooves, remorphing, backing into the store. His tail was poised. I heard familiar Hork-Bajir hacking and grunting.

They wouldn't come into the mall.

(Run, Jennor,) the boy said, turning a pleading stalk eye toward me. (Go now.)

I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay and let them kill me, however many there were. I wanted to put an end to all of this suffering, all of this waiting.

I didn't. I obeyed the boy. I pushed myself up with my bloody, dripping arm and started running.

Some made it past the boy.

My bare feet slapped the hard, marble surface of the mall floor. They offered better traction than their Hork-Bajir counterparts. The jeans shimmied back and forth. They slowly wriggled down my legs. For two or three store fronts, I was afraid that I could outrun them. But then three of them came charging into view, holsters and bandoliers crossing their bodies, running so fast and agile they used all four limbs. They screamed, and humans scattered.

"What are those things? Run!"

"Is there a new Jurassic Park movie coming out or something?"

My feet kept pounding into the ground, bits of blood and mirror flinging off of my pumping arms. One of the Hork-Bajir lunged for me like a large cat. I dodged and he flew past me. I pointed my Shredder at him and fired. My blood made the weapon slippery. Nothing but an empty "click."

(Useless junk!) I cried to myself. I peeled out the empty cartridge and aggravated the leftover bits of fuel sufficiently in my fist. There would still be, at most, three shots in the chamber. Some leaked out and burned my skin. I threw it behind me, hitting a store called "Abercrombie and Fitch," and it blew up.

I got to see this explosion.

Blue flames turned orange once they found fuel in the form of clothes, cheap aesthetics, and bad, alcohol-based perfumes. Smoke and fire billowed in on itself up to the high ceilings, spreading like spilled fluid upside-down. I coughed from the smoke, stumbling, crippled. Humans screamed, calling people on cell phones, crying and yelling "WHY??" Two Hork-Bajir were caught in the blaze. They crawled out, crying and howling, spilling blood and billowing smoke. I watched from about 40 yards away, catching my breath. My human form was not in pristine shape.

(Jennor, keep running!) The boy was behind the flame. His voice was loud and gave the Hork-Bajir new vitality when they heard it. He leapt through, undamaged, dragging half a dozen more Hork-Bajir with him.

I swallowed the smoke and tears. I continued to run.

My lungs heaved the air and were left unsatisfied. My calves burned. My arm stung and throbbed. Sweat dripped into my eyes. My feet began to slow. I felt blood and shards of glass drip down my arm and off my fingers. I was slowing down. The Hork-Bajir were gaining. The boy could not hold them off.

I needed some place to hide. Some place to make my final stand.

Coming up before me was a large lobby guarded by humans in red shirts. "Get out of the way!" I coughed and rasped to them.

"Ma'am, you need a ticket to—OH DEAR GOD!"

They moved out of the way once the boy came into view.

Humans separated and ran, spilling jugs of popcorn and soda. Some spilled small brown globules that the _aristh _had once described to me. I had never tasted them. I had never tasted any human food. The thought disgusted me. Placing foreign objects so close to, and inside, the face? Mastication? Saliva? Humans were disgusting. Anything alive was disgusting, dependent on so many gross biological acts to survive.

All the same, I wished I had tasted some human food. I do not know why I thought this as I ran into the theater.

It was empty, save a couple of red-shirted humans cleaning up spilled comestibles. "Get out of here," I heaved as I dove behind a row of seats in the section closer to the massive, gray viewscreen.

"This is our theater, you can't tell us—"

(Jennor!) The boy bounded inside just as I laid on my back on the disgusting floor, hair sticking to the ground, hand over my mouth, trying to silently catch my breath. The humans screamed and barreled through the utility exit door. My human diaphragm was raging, sweat pouring from my hair. I fidgeted, trying to relieve muscle cramps in every large muscle group on my body. I had trained this form! Why was it failing me now

Why was everything failing me now?


	40. Chapter Twenty: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

Three Hork-Bajir tumbled in after the _aristh_, and he immediately went to work.

His tail moved like a cobra, pausing, striking, snapping to center. It was the only thing I could see from my limited position on the ground, lit from above by the projection device. Every once in a while I heard a Hork-Bajir cry out in pain, or the _aristh_ yelled (Yeerk scum!), or I'd be sprayed with a little blood, green or blue. I waited, calming my body.

Where were the other three Hork-Bajir?

"Jennor!" One of them cried out suddenly. I turned and watched him from the farthest edge of the row I was hiding in.

Why had he called me by name?

He peeled theater seats from their bolted positions on the ground and threw them away like pieces of debris from some natural disaster. I heard a sudden cry from directly behind my head. Another Hork-Bajir! He reached for me, grabbing my shirt with the sharp claws on his baseball mitt-sized hand. I reeled around and kicked his arm away. He cried out in frustration.

(Just wait, Jennor! I'm coming!) I saw a Hork-Bajir arm go flying, punctuated by a horrible scream. The furthest Hork-Bajir coming for me groaned and decided he was needed elsewhere.

"You're mine," the other said, reaching for me. He scratched my shoulder deeply with his wrist blade. I kicked him in the face and started scuttling on my belly toward the opposite exit of the row, jeans now somewhere around my knees.

My breath was still heaving. I had calmed somewhat. I crawled as quickly as I could, though the Hork-Bajir had leaped on top of the seats and was straddling them like a massive pigeon on a powerline. He reached down and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, but I shimmied away. The collar ripped off intact, strangling me for a moment, but I ducked beneath, and it snagged my ear. I slipped from his grasp. He scowled in anger and uprooted another seat.

I emerged from the other end of the row and crouched, glancing at the _aristh_, still matched up against three Hork-Bajir. He was already wounded across the chest, face, and flanks. Every block was upended by two hits. His strikes weren't holding.

I heard a growl right by my ear, flung myself around, and fired my Shredder at it. A hot flash of blue light, a garbled scream, and warm Hork-Bajir blood washed down my hair and back.

I had an escape. The dead Hork-Bajir gave me a route to run out of the theater. Stuck in this soft, pasty human form until I could find the time to demorph, I would have been foolish not to take it.

I didn't.

The sixth Hork-Bajir, patient and leaderly, emerged from shadows in the farthest balcony of seats. He began to descend the stairs in the aisle. He watched the _aristh_, smiling, approaching him with a Dracon Beam armed and ready.

I watched him from the edge of the row as he meandered down the steps. He couldn't see me. Aware of me, yes, but I was hidden from view. He didn't search for me. He had a different mission first. He was in no hurry. His smile was arrogant. Victorious.

Once he reached the perpendicular aisle, he turned toward the scuffle. The other Hork-Bajir, crowded around the _aristh_ like a flock of pigeons eating spilled bread, backed away, laughing in that wicked cackling way that they did. They all had Dracon Beams, but this was more fun for them. Their leader would get the killing blow.

"You have failed protecting something very important, Andalite," the Hork-Bajir said in perfect _Galard_, raising his Shredder at the defenseless _aristh_, who stared back smugly. "Die knowing that, at the very least."

I stood up.

What kind of prince would I be if I let them slaughter my _aristh_?

"Get away from him," I said, picking up a half-full tub of soda from a cupholder on a seat. I chucked it at him. Brown sugar water exploded around his head. The cup lodged between two of his head blades.

He stopped. Put his hand on the cup and peeled it away. Turned.

"You were supposed to wait, Andalite female," he said as he approached me. "You were supposed to live."

I pulled my Shredder out at the last second and fired. At the most critical moment in the battle, the time when I needed it the most, it failed.

His hand descended on my throat and lifted me easily, pinning me against the stapled, red drapes on the wall. The Shredder clattered to the ground. He raised his opposite hand high over his head, wrist blade pointed down, aiming at the center of my chest.

_Finally,_ I thought as the cool rush of relief returned. The sagging heaviness of my flesh pulled tightly on my neck and shoulder tendons. I closed my eyes, more than prepared.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The Hork-Bajir screamed. I felt the warm air, the moisture in his breath, the smell of his nutritional supplement like wet sawdust. I heard something hit the floor with a thump. Blood pumped from his empty wrist. It splashed hot onto my face, down my chest, tasting like copper and salt. Two stalk eyes peered from around the Hork-Bajir.

(Just wait, Jennor. Just hang on!) the _aristh_ said.

He had broken free from the other four Hork-Bajir. And somehow, he had crippled this one.

They pulled him back into the fray and he cried out in frustration.

The Hork-Bajir before me smiled. "Slow, then," he said, wincing the pain away, tightening his fingers around my strong human neck.

I felt my airways close, my lungs spasm. Veins bulged in my face. Tears streamed from my eyes. My heart began to hammer in my chest, desperate for fresh air. With my last bits of adrenaline I kicked him in the face. He laughed.

"Stay down, Jennor. Stay down and let this end. Do you think I am without insight? Do you think I cannot see your true goal in this venture?" His voice was quiet, seductive. Empathetic. I stopped thrashing. "Succumb to it, Jennor. There is no shame in death. It will not judge you. It will welcome you. Your desire and mine are the same. We benefit mutually from this outcome. Just let go, Andalite female. Just let it take you."

I listened. I relaxed. I calmed. Time drew impossibly thin. It would all be over soon.

Thousands of perpetual mistakes and their consequences would end. Years of torment and pain and shame would end. I would receive what I'd wanted. What the foolish boy had saved me from time and time again. What I was not allowed to bestow upon myself.

I would die.

I closed my eyes and more stress tears broke through. But I was not stressed. I was very calm. I imagined what it would be like. Would it be silence? Relieving, all-encompassing silence? Would it be joyous? Would I be commended for my actions in life? Or would I be punished? Would there be anything? Or would it just be...over?

Would there be absolutely nothing?

I found myself hoping for that.

No, not hope. Hope was not the right word. I wished for it, but it was not hope.

I opened my eyes. My giddy killer's face was separated by a mean, diagonal scar.

Death would deliver no commendation. I could not be commended for a life full of such foolishness. I had spent years convinced that my actions would earn Father's love. How could I believe that? What fuel, what evidence had I used? When had he ever shown any selfless affection? How could I continue to believe such a lie for so long?

That one belief was the problem. The root problem, the problem that caused all others. I'd assumed that his love was something I could earn. But he'd never wanted me. I'd been more than a responsibility, more than a mere annoyance. I was a mar. A punishment. A tumor, a cancerous growth. He'd never meant for me to happen. Why had he let me? Why hadn't he just disposed of me before I could sustain my own life?

_Her_, I thought. _Perhaps the fault lies with her_. That pretty holographic woman whose beauty and magnetism even I could feel. That was the worst part about Trainer's crime. I understood his longing. She was warm and comforting, even in representational form. I understood his motivation. He'd loved her and lost her, and I was as close a replacement as he would ever find. I was half hers. That half he loved. But I was also half Father's. That part he hated.

It was the hate I held on to. The hate filled and fueled me. The love he expressed for me wasn't mine. It belonged to her, the mysterious, nonexistent woman I could never know. But the hate slipped through the nets. The hate drove like gamma rays and infected me, hate could penetrate the barrier of my rationality. I believed him. I was flawed, detestable, selfish. I believed him and that belief became as much a part of me as anything my Father did.

I hated myself. I had for so long. I was a meaningless, purposeless, murderous person with no other talent than death and fulfilling the sick needs of someone whose spite and envy had transfused to me. What good had I ever done? What had I accomplished? Nothing. I would die, responsible only for the death I'd caused, the things I'd ruined, the resources I'd consumed. I was a waste and failure. I was nothing.

The Hork-Bajir kept squeezing. A burst of stars seared across his face in my vision. My lungs spasmed in my chest. The tips of my fingers were going numb.

A human smile crawled to my lips.

Yes, this was better. Die on a planet so far from Andalite concern that they would never even realize you'd existed. Die where the only person who would miss you is an ambitious, energetic young boy whose sympathies and hearts were tragically misplaced. _The hawk will be happy. He will pretend not to be out of pity for his friend. _This thought made my smile even bigger.

(Keep squeezing, Yeerk,) I said, lifting my sagging arms to his wrist, pushing it closer. His eyes were hard and determined. I saw the boy behind him. Still fighting. Why? Why continue to resist? There was nothing left here, nothing left anywhere. They'd won. Evil had triumphed.

But maybe it hadn't.

The boy was still fighting.

Was everything hopeless? Yes. Desperately so. But he was still fighting. That was the only difference between defeat and survival. The choice was ours: to keep fighting, keep resisting, keep trying, despite hardship and pain, despite perpetual loss. The boy was a better warrior than I could ever hope to be. I'd given up long ago, but he kept fighting. Alone, unsupervised, and losing. He was a true Andalite warrior.

That is how I would die, but that was not me.

The palms of my hands were cold, and I felt a familiar, wonderful, pink feeling emerge in the tips of my fingers.

What kept him fighting? What gave him hope? Why was he risking his life for someone as meaningless as me? Trainer would be fighting for me, suspended here by a sympathetic Yeerk. But his motives were different. Trainer had not cared for me out of loyalty or obligation. He'd used me. He'd loved me, yes, but it was not selfless, not unconditional. I was his tool. His possession, and he cared for me with the scrutiny and routine he had for all of his possessions. What was I to the boy? What did I represent to him? Why was he sacrificing blood, limb, and tail to save me?

Thoughts were crowding. The euphoria spread slowly up my arms.

_Hope_, I thought. _He said he loved me, but his love is different. He loves me because I give him hope._

I understood, then, why he hated me too. Not because half of me had been contrived from his greatest rival. Not because I could never replace the woman he'd truly wanted. It was because I took just as much hope as I gave. He knew how without hope I was. My hopelessness gave him hopelessness. I leeched him just like I'd been leeched.

And still he fought.

He still had hope. And, as Trainer's hate had spawned hate in me, I felt something from deep within the dark, cold fog suddenly reawakened to light and clarity.

Hope.

I'd blinded myself to it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Hope would always be there, beyond death, beyond failure, beyond pain and hardship. It swaddled our universe invisibly, intractably. Just because I'd ignored it didn't mean it had abandoned me. It was there all along, and he had allowed me to see it again.

It burst into a sudden, wonderful brightness in my heart, a painful glee that I neither deserved nor expected. Something more, too, a shiver of something, an epiphany, a _feeling_ that was simultaneously wonderful, horrible, imprisoning and liberating. I realized how much strength it must take to be here. To put up with me. To keep fighting. I realized how good he was. And how terrible that made me.

I'd failed at things I hadn't even known I'd done. I'd failed so much. Every turning point in my life was a failure. _Let it end_, I begged as the euphoria crept through my shoulders and into my chest. _Let it be over._

But wasn't knowing worth something?

The hard orange eyes I'd been staring into turned suddenly slack and surprised. His beak tipped downward. His handless arm moved toward his chest, where an Andalite blade dripping with green blood emerged.

(That will be all, Yeerk,) Aximili said as the fingers around my throat slipped away.


	41. Chapter Twenty: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

I slid to the ground. There wasn't much feeling anywhere anymore, except the vague pumping of a useless organ in my chest and a buzzing sound in my ears. The euphoria was encasing my heart. It would be over soon, but I could help it along.

My Shredder had fallen just to my right. The Hork-Bajir above me stumbled to the left. I picked up the gun and held it against my temple.

(I will take no more hope from you, _aristh._ You'll survive, like you have all along. Now leave me to die. That is an order.)

I pulled the trigger.

FWAPP! A rush of pain, then a moment of confusion.

My hand and the gun clattered to the ground.

(Did you really think that would be the first order I'd follow?) He asked as he picked up my gun, leaving the dead hand attached. With the blunt edge of his tail blade, he tapped my back with some force, and trapped carbon dioxide barreled through my sealed windpipe. Every shred of euphoria slipped away with the cough. Horrible knives up my throat, cutting and slicing, wicked and alive. I was alive. There was air in my lungs, fresh air, and my heart accepted it with a passion that made my chest burst in pain.

He pulled the strip of fabric from my ear and tied it as a simple tourniquet around my arm. There was too much pain in my chest and throat to even acknowledge the pain in my arm.

But there was pain. Once again, there was blinding, crippling, liberating pain.

He bent his legs, settled on the ground, and drew my useless form over his back. He got up and left the theater.

We made it back to the scoop, somehow. Somehow, he laid me on the futon. Somehow, he cleaned my wound and bandaged it and gave me some kind of sedative. Somehow, I was alive.

I felt little except the horrible, messily resolved conflict in my mind until the next morning. I emerged into the tiniest sliver of consciousness. I was aware of my breathing. Horrible, raspy, scarred and painful. I felt it calmly for a few breaths, and then the flood of memory burst into my mind.

Alive. I was alive.

I snapped up on the futon, blinded by sunlight and sweat, screeching and panicked.

"It's all right, calm down, you're all right." Aximili's human hands pushed me back down.

It was primal instinct, and if I'd had any of my senses I'd have stopped myself, but I punched him. The raw, bloody stump of my right wrist connected with full force against his jaw.

The pain was incredible, electric, wonderful, nauseating. It rang through my arm like a church bell, it was increasing, unbearable, my brain pulsed at the notice of it, my veins bulged, it continued exploding until it began to ebb, replaced by a slow, mingling endorphin-induced euphoria. So unlike the one from last night, so far from offering the ultimate relief.

"I probably deserved that," he muttered.

The pain continued to resonate and the nausea continued to grow. I felt a weakness in my chest and some strange human reflex occurred. I opened my mouth, and from deep within my throat I felt the sparse contents of my stomach empty.

Aximili had been holding me. He sighed.

"That, I believe, was unfair," he said.

I began to feel relief. Warm blood trickled down my arm. I'd reopened the wound. My throat ached, and I swallowed, feeling sticky chunks of trachea and bile move hindered up and down my throat. I couldn't speak, I could barely breathe, I needed to morph.

I slid off the bed, gripping my handless arm, Aximili's eager hands still warm on my back. I began to demorph, clothes be damned. Stalk eyes emerged from my head, tail expanded from my back, legs popped from my chest.

And something else came, too. It came fast and suddenly, and it felt terribly normal and totally foreign. It had been years since I'd allowed myself to feel it. Years since its pervasive acuity had influenced my perception. The sight. The feeling. The infiltration came back and its effects were immediate.

"There, all better." He said.

No, it wasn't.

Aximili was there, in my mind. Clearer than ever before. His thoughts were both simpler and more conflicting in his human brain. He was worried, thrilled, exhausted, annoyed, curious, energized. He watched me with care, half wishing to help me and half wanting to ignore me and relax. I saw terrible ambition battling moral obligation and justifiable hopelessness. I'd have given up months ago if I were him. So lonely, wishing I'd just be an Andalite he could share his hearts with. So heartbroken and hurt, wishing to rid himself of the obligation he'd accepted when he rescued me. There was love there, yes, but it battled disgust and impatience. I felt his aversion to me.

Tobias was there, too. I hadn't seen him with my eyes or noticed his presence with any other sense. He was watching from about 15 feet up, nestled on the frame of Aximili's scoop. He was confused, entranced. His mind was focused and sharp but slow. He watched me with his fantastically acute sight, saw the changes in my eyes. Could he be aware of what had happened? Could he know what I was? I probed deeper.

An Andalite was there. Deep within his mind, I saw Andalite.

I looked between him and the boy. Such trust, such loyalty. Their bond was more than friendship. It was familial, fraternal.

"Jennor, are you all right?" Aximili asked.

(What is that?) Tobias asked. (What are you showing us?)

_Tobias is Elfangor's son._

The secret made me sick. I made myself sick. I felt whispers of other secrets, secrets my insatiable curiosity would uncover, secrets I may be forced to accept responsibility for. And I _was_ showing them things. I was singing, I knew I was. I didn't know what about.

I morphed to human. When I finished, I cradled my head in my arms. The sight was gone. Aximili was standing at a close, cautious distance, Tobias still watching from above. I looked up at them.

Aximili's hand was on my arm. Its presence was not uncomfortable. He pulled me to my feet. My shirt had survived the morph. It was fresh, changed from yesterday, though I'd still managed to get blood and vomit on it. I had underwear on but nothing else. This wasn't the pair I had been wearing last night.

He'd taken care of me. The thought of being unconscious, helpless in his care did not frighten me. He did not frighten me anymore. I felt safe. I felt comfortable. I looked up into his eyes and suddenly understood the feeling that had passed through me the previous day. That shiver of knowledge and the horrible, wonderful feelings it had brought along. Hunger and satisfaction. Pain and relief, all together, always together. I knew what it meant.

"I need to go," I said in my human voice. It did not disgust me anymore. I liked the way it felt in my throat: uncertain, wavering. It expressed exactly what I felt. Everything I _could_ feel.

"Where are you going?" Aximili asked, laughing a little, knowing how ridiculous the thought of me going anywhere was. I couldn't be with him right now. I needed to get away. I needed an excuse. One he would believe.

"It is evident that this form is sub-par," I said. "Its stamina needs to be improved. I require training."

(You can't be serious,) Tobias said.

"I am perfectly serious, Tobias," I said, pulling my arm away from the boy and feeling a cold vacuum erupt in my heart.

I walked away. Toward the meadow where I fed. There was a tree there, and a rock approximately 50 yards away. I needed to sprint. Sprinting would increase my stamina.

I started at the tree and sprinted to the rock. My lungs heaved and hurt, but there was some new feeling in my chest. Everything was mixing like chemicals, exploding, oxidizing. So many feelings all together, conflicting and battling. How could one person contain all this? How had I ever?

I walked back to the tree. Something was breaking out of me. The lock on the cage was open. I was unable to contain it. How could I survive an onslaught from within?

My knees wobbled, my feet faltered, my breath crippled. My body, like everything, was outside of my control. I didn't make it to the tree. But it didn't matter, because Aximili was waiting for me.

I collapsed into him. I collapsed into him without regret, without pride, unable to hold myself up anymore. I couldn't do this alone. This was not a weight I could solely bear.

It all came crashing down at once without warning or sympathy. Every thought I had had the previous night in the hand of the Hork-Bajir. Every conclusion I had made. Everything from before I had been too scared and unwilling to deal with. Failure, heartache, wonder, desire. Every emotion, carefully shelved and labeled, neutralized and locked down, exploded and bounced around my heart, leaving scars and bruises. I was getting beaten from within.

I collapsed and I cried. The tears came so easily to this pathetic human form. We sank to the meadow floor. He sat straight and tall and strong and held me up. I gripped his shirt, smelling of his sweat and my blood and vomit, and I wept. His warm body was impartial and comforting. Was it shameful to need this? Should I have been able to handle it on my own? What would a true warrior do?

It didn't matter. I would accept the shame. I would admit defeat. I didn't care anymore.

I needed his protection. I wanted him to do what Father had been unable to, what Trainer only did when it suited his desires. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms and breathe into my hair. I wanted him to whisper in my ear and fill me with trite platitudes and stupid terms of endearment. He held me close, gripping my skin and shirt and pressing every square inch of his flesh against mine that he could. He pressed his cheek to my forehead, his hand to my back, his chest to mine. Fueled by love, not by bitterness, the grip was painful and suffocating and totally, completely necessary.

It might have been raining, there might have been an earthquake, but I could feel nothing but his human warmth and the strength beneath it against my skin. The relief sunk into me. The need for more buzzed in my mind. The hunger was satisfied and addictive. I could barely breathe, and the tears kept coming.

I cried for hours. I didn't know how long. It was still light outside when I pulled away from his wet chest, but just barely. I didn't know what time I had woken up. I didn't even know if we had passed through one night or more. I knew his grip never loosened. His breath never faltered. He kept holding me, saying nothing, until every superficial pain was cried away.

I pulled away and looked into his face. I knew mine was coated in mucus and tears, swelled up perhaps beyond recognition, but it didn't matter. His eyes were warm and tired and patient.

"I got your shirt all wet," I said stupidly. I didn't know what else to say.

There was amusement and exhaustion in his eyes. He closed them, leaned down, and kissed me. His lips were warm and dry, but he kept them soft. They moved slowly, a sense of devotion and promise behind them. He was making a vow. I didn't move for a moment. It had surprised me.

But then I kissed him back, as the last piece of my internal fortress crumbled away, and even though I didn't know how, I knew that it was going to be all right.


	42. Chapter Twenty One: Terenia

Chapter Twenty-One

Terenia

PART ONE OF THREE

(Is he ready?)

Terliss eyed the nervous attendant, a Hork-Bajir fingering her holster and staring at the ground.

"Yes, sir. He's inside, sir. The medical officers...I mean, the one from the Pool Ship, already—"

(Yes, thank you,) Terliss interrupted.

Terliss sighed, swung her stalk eyes around once, and headed inside, alone. Just as we breached the threshold, a wild spasm of pain ripped through our abdomen.

The twisting was worse than ever.

We felt sick and weighed down all of the time now. It had gotten really bad a few weeks ago. We could barely sleep anymore. Nagrit had the tact to wait a few days to ask if anything was wrong, but Terliss lied to him anyway. What she thought of as a large python living in our stomach, moving and thinking and warning her about something, seemed to have doubled in size, tripled in ferocity. It had never gotten this bad, never made us double over or moan in pain before. Something terrible had happened. I didn't know what. Terliss feared something. I didn't know what.

"Sir? Are you all right?"

(Keep guard on this door, and no matter what you hear, let no one inside.) Terliss straightened herself, headed inside, and quickly went to work, ignoring the pain for the time being.

But it wouldn't be forgotten. It gave an angry, slimy splash as she stuck our little tail blade through the toe-nail hard shell of the Taxxon she was torturing. He screamed with vibrato and thrashed in pain, and while he was distracted she shimmied to make the pain go away.

She pulled her tail blade out at an odd angle, and blood spurted all over our arms. Lots of warm, inky blood, smelling of ammonia and puke. Like a pen the size of a baseball bat had exploded on them. I would be lying if I said I was used to this. My hands committing torture, murder, and enslavement on a daily basis and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I knew it wasn't my fault, but someone had to feel guilty about it. May as well be me.

(Spare me the self-pity, Terenia,) Terliss said, harsher than she normally was.

(I don't know. Maybe all this torture is why it's gotten so bad,) I offered to Terliss. She said nothing, but I felt a vague twinge of regret.

All this torture, this pain and death, it made me sick, but not physically. Guilt and fear didn't wash through me, they sat festering in my brain. Terliss' guilt could wash through her. Terliss' fear could prickle down her back. And she was scared. She was guilty. And she was lonely.

Nagrit was no longer on board.

The Taxxon below me heaved in and out, slowly, relaxed almost. He wasn't getting up any time soon. Ever again, actually, from the limited knowledge I had about Taxxon anatomy. Half his legs were severed, twitching on the floor, and blood ran from a series of wounds in his underbelly, staining the grass. The snake writhed again, angrier, hungrier, completely overwhelming the pointless, primal fear and horniness cascading through my body.

(Sub-Visser, I understand ambition. You don't get to the Council of Thirteen from luck and talent alone. It drives most Yeerks mad, trying to claw their ways to the top. But most Yeerks realize that host species does not equal rank.)

"I only wanted—" he hissed.

(I know what you wanted. It was more than clear when you attacked that uninfested Andalite. You wanted your chance.)

"Why are you keeping them alive?" He cried.

(To understand. To learn. So people more patient than you can infest them when we figure out how.)

She wiped the blood off our hands onto a rag and held it in front of his circular, tooth-rimmed mouth. His pencil-thin tongue licked it greedily.

(I believe this is punishment enough,) she said, placing the rag on the floor, just out of reach of his searching tongue, leaving the room. He turned on himself and immediately began lapping up the blood that gurgled from his wounds.

She left an additional Hork-Bajir guarding the dying Taxxon. The injuries he'd sustained weren't enough to kill him, but still, he was going to die. The Andalite ship was too cold for the cold-blooded Taxxons. After a few days, their blood congealed to jelly and their hearts grew too tired to pump it. It was slower that way.

Almost as painful as Kandrona starvation for them, freezing was.

It wasn't a method she liked to use. It wasn't flashy or frightening. It didn't set examples for anyone besides the Taxxons. Kandrona starvation was better for that. Besides, it was better not to waste host bodies. But she could afford the rare change-up now and again since breeding programs she'd begun ensured no shortage of Taxxons or Hork-Bajir. And soon, there would be enough Andalites for every Yeerk that wanted one. There was no threat she couldn't use. She and Nagrit had designed many successful, universally feared torture regimens.

We walked along the hallway toward our quarters, quivering our tail every once in a while to shake loose a few more drops of blood. The snake squirmed again, wrapping some organ up in its hold. Painful, now. Angry. Displeased. We groaned, swinging a stalk eye around, careful to remember not to indulge any sign of the pain, even now in private. We glanced out the window. We were orbiting Saturn.

My Saturn.

The ship had been under our control for a little more than two weeks. They were beginning construction on the Yeerk Pool today. Another headache, another bureaucratic, moronic—

I shook free of her train of thought, remembering my own. Remembering that I was still me, that her anxieties and obligations were to be augmented, not assuaged. Ever since we'd entered my sector of the galaxy, my solar system, my home, I only wanted to focus on one thing.

Earth.

I begged her to go, to make some ridiculous excuse to take a tour or inspect the process of infestation of the humans. I didn't care what I'd see when we got there. I didn't even care that I was inadvertently assisting the destruction of my race. I just wanted to see it. Them. My people. My species.

But there was no way she could go inspect Earth herself. That would cause too much political discomfort in the Council. A lot of them liked the way Visser Three worked, and a visit by the Empress, who was now known as such, to a planet generally regarded as one of the more successful secret takeovers in the galaxy would invite suspicion into her personal opinions. But Nagrit could go. It wasn't rare for Sub-Vissers to do inspections on various planets.

So Nagrit went, even though Visser Three was a deranged psychopath, even though she worried that he might not return. But Nagrit was smart. He could take care of himself. Couldn't he? Besides, she wanted to find something wrong with Visser Three so she'd have an excuse to get rid of him once and for all, even though she couldn't go herself. So Nagrit went to a planet over a billion miles away just for the infinitesimal possibility that she could catch an unimportant political enemy with his hand in the cookie jar.

Impatience and longing spread through my body. She missed him a lot. So did I.

Of course, politics wasn't the only reason we didn't travel past two more planets and go home. She knew how much I wanted to see Earth again. Maybe visit my old home, blow it up with a Dracon beam. Go to the playground where I used to play. She was scared of what that kind of invigoration would to do me. Scared of what kind of resistance I could mount, with renewed hope that strong. I wasn't in my body anymore, but it was infuriating to know that my home was two hours away at maximum burn and I couldn't see it.

(That's not the reason, Terenia,) she sighed, heading to the Dome. (You know it's not.)

(Then let's go,) I said. (No one on the Council would find out, we wouldn't even be gone long enough for anyone to notice! Just real fast, it would take less than three hours!) Well, maybe a little bit more, if we ran into Nagrit, but…no no don't think of—

(You don't get it, do you? After fifteen years of relative contentment, I think you'd know how hard I work to keep you happy. I would love to take you home, but I can't. Not yet.)

(Then when?)

(When we're given an opportunity.)

I hated that she tried to appease me. It gave her a sense of superiority, and the worst part was, evidence suggested she deserved it. I guess if you have the most power in the entire Empire, you can do something as frivolous as trying to keep your host happy. I hadn't screamed or cried in weeks. Of course, maybe Nagrit had a lot more to do with that than Terliss did. Now that he was out of his Hork-Bajir host, we were both a lot calmer. Hadn't hit home yet, but amazing even how snuggling and kissing could simultaneously ease and aggravate that tension. She wasn't the only one who got to feel it. Her days were busy, filled with the kind of micromanagement a new takeover required. But her nights, when the ship shut down...they were wonderful.

Nagrit had been gone for about a week. She hoped he would come back soon.

I hoped so, too.

Altogether, it had been a little over two weeks since we'd taken over the Dome Ship. 17 days. That meant Nagrit and Terliss had fed on board four times. They always fed together, maximizing the amount of time they got to spend together.

They'd fed together before, of course, giving me the only limited liberation I ever had left to hope for, but I'd been totally alone then. Now, at least, I had a companion capable of polite conversation.

(Don't stare, don't watch, look away, you ridiculous girl,) he'd snapped upon our first feeding. I looked away, shocked and ashamed. I hadn't been staring, really. I mean, I guess I was. I forget that Andalites consider even one stalk eye staring. I didn't mean to insult him. I didn't really know what I meant to do. He was real mad. I wanted him to be mad at the Yeerks, at fate, at anyone besides me, but he wasn't.

He hated me.

(I can't not look at you,) I said quietly. (I never get to talk to anyone.)

His stalk eyes were steaming, curled in a horrible way, but he turned one to me and it wobbled in weakness.

(What…your name…what are you called?) He asked.

(Terenia,) I sighed, not realizing until then that I hadn't said it out loud in years.

(My name is Vaxidun,) he said quietly. Then, (My name is Vaxidun!) I smiled to him, a smile that was meant to be comforting but I think it ended up looking kind of pathetic, because it made him scowl.

We stood—or hung, I guess, in our insulting chains—in an awkward silence as Vaxidun seethed and I felt embarrassed. Finally, I decided to try again, knowing for damn sure I wasn't going to keep quiet until three more days went by.

(I know this is awful, but—)

(How much longer until they corrupt us completely?) He asked, shivering like a rabid dog. (They touch, they rub, they sully…my hands are unfaithful, but my mind, my hearts…How much longer until my wife considers me irredeemable?)

(You're married?) I asked. I hadn't even thought about that. Hadn't even considered the life he'd lost, being here with me. I felt a claw of responsibility, of guilt. A little sickness that made him a lot less attractive came very sudden, because his suffering was my fault. Eventually, when they figured out how, he'd cuckold her. And I'd be the slut that caused his infidelity.

Terliss had chosen him because of me, after all.

His tail rattled in its harness, clanking the chains together. He looked away again.

I didn't really want to talk anymore, but curiosity got the better of me. (What's her name?) I asked. My voice conveyed more empathy than I meant it to.


	43. Chapter Twenty One: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

His beautiful brown eyes closed for a second. For a moment, I think, he felt bad about yelling at me. (Veranna.)

(Vaxidun and Veranna,) I said, laughing to myself a little, trying to stop from feeling so sick. (Your monogrammed towels must be very, um, what's the word…symmetrical.)

He looked confused, then sympathetic. (It's not your fault,) he said. (I don't blame you. It's not your fault. I didn't mean…it's just, you embody the force that…my wife…my daughters…)

(Daughters?) I asked. I wished Nagrit and Terliss would hurry up already.

(A three-year mission. That was all this was supposed to be. She made me promise to refuse any military assignments. "Don't get killed, Vaxidun. Perform your duty, but don't get killed." This was supposed to be a rare, risk-free gift.)

He was sad, he was entrancing, and he was beautiful, but I couldn't look at him anymore.

(It's not your fault,) he repeated, softer now, but still with an edge of rage. (It's my fault. I had a responsibility. When they filtered the poison, when they mounted their attack…To my people, my race. Myself. I should have upheld my duty. I wanted to protect her, my daughters. I wanted to return. I was…I was scared, Terenia.)

I looked back at him. Suddenly felt more than just guilt and shame. Pity. He was kind of a pathetic figure, all stuttering and apologetic. He looked ready to crumble. Maybe that was too kind. Maybe he already had.

(I don't think you did anything wrong,) I said, trying to be comforting. Hell, I wouldn't have killed myself either. I didn't owe that to anyone. Not like the Andalites had done me a lot of favors.

Vaxidun was silent for a moment. (We all have responsibilities,) he said quietly. (To right wrongs. Do ameliorate our mistakes. To keep fighting. Look at you, after fifteen years you can still resist her, still maintain your sense of identity and distinction. I'm being a coward, complaining like this.) He laughed to himself, then got very serious, scrabbling his hooves on the ground, using every effort to turn and face me. (You'll never give in, will you, Terenia?)

His gaze was earnest and vulnerable. It was almost a sick joke, the way a well-trained Andalite warrior looked to a stupid human girl for strength and guidance.

(I don't know.)

I can't be sure whether I stopped loving him after that or fell for him even more. After all that initial harshness, he started to treat me nicer. Despite the fact that I was an uncivilized human and he was a typical Andalite male, he didn't treat me all aloof and arrogant like other Andalites, when they found out. He was stiff and honorable at first, thinking that by acting rude to me he'd be forgiven for the acts our Yeerks performed, but after a while, he softened. He still hated me a little, but like me, he was all alone otherwise. I think he just needed the company.

But the last time we'd been temporarily freed, I'd been in my normal harness and I guess Vaxidun had been in some cage on Earth. Almost a week of an aching groin and that stupid, unfulfilled hope that when we swung our stalk eye around, he'd be cantering toward us, a surprise return to make me happy. Though Nagrit kept in pretty regular contact, it had been over a day since he had sent a message. Terliss was getting worried.

So was I.

She made her way to the dome after finishing with the Taxxon.

When we finished trudging up that curve that compensated for the gravitational shift, my legs ached, my nostrils burned, and my stomach flipped. The sight of the place made me a little sick, I guess. Sort of a primal sickness, seeing such a beautiful slice of home all raped and pillaged. The lake in the middle of the dome was being drained, sieved through a machine that added the nutrients and elements to the water to make it like a Yeerk Pool. Polluting it, making it sour. The ground was scored, dried, denaturalized. Trees had been chopped down and uprooted, carcasses of all the little fauna that kept the plants strong littered the ground. The whole place smelled like pesticide and car exhaust. The grass tasted awful, saturated with it. The few Andalites inside the dome looked pale, just as nauseated as I was.

But Terliss, steady, reliable Terliss shelved all of that and approached the Council-appointed engineer.

(How are things coming?) She asked the slouching Taxxon controller. I wouldn't call him a civilian, but he was as nonmilitary as you're allowed to get in the Yeerk Empire, and it showed.

His translator didn't crackle and kicked in right away. Engineers kept theirs in optimal condition. "Preliminary specifications are good, except for one thing. This ground is too soft for Earth foundational supports. We'll have to import some from the Taxxon homeworld."

(And what will we do in the meantime?)

"Earth supports will suffice as a temporary solution. We'll dry out the ground with Dracon Beams so it's a little easier to work with."

(Will that hold?)

"Not indefinitely. But long enough."

Terliss nodded in cautious approval. She was still mad about this whole thing. This new pool was the only thing keeping us near Earth. The Council had voted that Terliss' Pool Ship be transferred to Visser Three's command, but not until the pool was completed. So it was still hers, for now. For now, that was where all of the Controllers under her command, Andalite and otherwise, fed, but Terliss wanted this ship to be independent as soon as possible, and it was already taking longer than she'd planned.

She glanced behind her, noticing the three uninfestables being herded inside, now fulfilling their promise to obey her command. Near the entrance to the Dome, nine Hork-Bajir had their Dracon Beams trained on them, and each was wearing a device on his head, woven around his stalk eyes in a figure eight. They glowed like neon lights. I'd touched one when they'd been poached from the weapons locker. They were hot—hot like you pulled your hand back if you touched it, but if you kept touching it, you'd adjust. Right at the Andalite pain threshold. With the push of a button, one of them could burst, enveloping the Andalite's head in flame and heat. Instantaneous death. Clean and neat.

The uninfestables didn't look so scared, though. These Andalites never looked scared. Two of them were always glaring, always blaming and searching for opportunities for revenge. The other, though, looked kind of distant and pensive. Like none of this was really his concern. Either way, I liked that they didn't look scared. Terliss didn't care either way.

Suddenly, though, a lunge of blue. In one quick strike, one of them lopped off the nearest Hork-Bajir's hand. The Hork-Bajir was too stunned to scream or even move. His Dracon Beam went flying and clattered on the ground. The assailant was the short, gruff one, my favorite, named Trylast, and he turned toward me. His chest expanded in defiance and his tail twitched. He reared up on his hind legs and broke into a gallop, straight for me.

Fear gripped me for a moment. Terliss, to my surprise, stood her ground, and didn't dive for the controls for the little neon-light figure-eight. She smiled. The dismembered Hork-Bajir snatched up his tail with his good hand, like a fleeing cat or lizard, quickly assisted by the two others. There was sort of a funny elastic effect as he snapped back, bowling into his guards. They wrestled the Andalite to the ground, but he never stopped looking at me. Glaring.

(They'll miss one of these times, you know,) he cried. (Surprise will get the better of them, one of these times.)

Terliss sighed and looked up at the other two Andalites. They looked annoyed and tired. She wasn't letting them get enough sleep. Or food. Or anything.

They'd each been through an insane interrogation process that left them mostly dull and obedient. There had been a couple of flares of rebellion, like this, but they were outnumbered to the point of hyperbole. But no matter what we did to them, they looked at me with a hate so deep and reckless, it still scared Terliss. I represented every corner of their torment. To them, I was the Satan of their current hell.

She watched the group of them for a while. The smaller one screamed as the Hork-Bajir shackled him and prepared to take him off to be punished. The taller Andalite gazed out of the dome, uninvested. The doctor rubbed one of his hands, flicking away arthritic pain. He gazed back at her.

She kept watching him. He noticed. Glanced around, making sure he was her target.

(Can I help you with something?) He asked in a wonderful sarcastic voice.

(Krineck, have you got this handled?) She asked the Taxxon engineer. He looked around at all the Hork-Bajir: a few unloading sand bags imported from Earth, a few testing the charges on various advanced-looking power tools. He also glanced at the remaining Andalite who still looked distant, and then at his guards. Nonmilitary as he was, he still had a self-preservation instinct, just like anyone.

"Yes, sir."

(Come with me,) she said to the doctor, gesturing him and the three guards assigned to him out of the dome.

She walked down the hallway in silence, flanked by two guards, Andalite and Hork-Bajir Controllers delivering stiff salutes to me before sneering at the uninfestable, guided and pushed by six varyingly gentle Hork-Bajir claws. She watched him with a stalk eye. He walked slowly, exhausted and stiff, but burning with a sort of barely controlled rage that made people stupid. She smiled inwardly. That rage would play into her plan very nicely.

She was going to do something now that Nagrit had not approved of. In fact, he'd outright vetoed it, but she didn't need his approval for this. His consent, eventually, but that came later. Before talk of consent, there would need to be something else. And it had to work. Both of us were too frustrated for it not to work.

She led him into the medical bay, leaving all his guards just outside the door. This is where his wife, the ship's only onboard infested Andalite physician, spent her duty hours.

(What is the purpose of this?) He asked, almost whining, as the female Andalite turned a bored stalk eye in our direction.

(Sub-Visser, find some way to keep busy,) she said to the female, watching her closely.

(You're going to give me something I want, or she is going to die.) She said it in a whisper. It wasn't quite a threat, and it wasn't a promise. It was just a fact. A result of that quality she had that all effective leaders did—what she said wasn't hypothetical. It was law.

(What do you want?) He asked, careful not to sound too desperate. Terliss folded our arms and rubbed our chin with three delicate fingers.

(I require medical assistance,) she responded.

(Is something wrong with your host?)

(I'm simply afraid something is right with my host.)

(That is a despicable need for a Yeerk to fulfill,) he spat almost immediately. She sighed in slight disappointment, hoping he was a little less clever than that.

(Your opinions on the matter are meaningless. Your assistance is the only thing that matters.)

(Assistance,) he repeated, a wicked smile in his stalk eye. (You require help. From me.)

She smiled back at him, sweet and genuine. (Help for me is a secondary result of help for yourself. And her,) she said, looking back at the female doctor who was gazing over curiously, sterilizing equipment.

Keeping eyes on both of them, Terliss realized neither of them were focused on her. She allowed the moment to pass, realizing that acknowledgment of each other wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Might, in fact, work in her favor.

(You sure love is something you want to go screwing around with? Nothing strikes back quite as forceful as love's been intersected,) I warned.

(I know what I'm doing, Terenia, keep your tongue.)

(You don't need my help,) he finally said, refusing to break the gaze he held with his wife. (That is common knowledge among most Andalites. I'm surprised your host doesn't know.)

A troubled look came to our eye. This was unexpected and possibly dangerous.

(Don't be coy with me, Andalite,) she said, twitching our tail blade a little bit.

(Morphing after copulation is an effective contraceptive. Foreign organic material, like a Yeerk, can be conserved if the morpher so desires. The default setting of the Escafil Device is to purge any foreign organic material from the morpher. It's how we finally cured the common cold.)

A cold chill came over her. How had the conversation turned this way so quickly?


	44. Chapter Twenty One: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

The little bit of study of Andalite society that Terliss had completed in the past couple weeks showed that the morphing technology was pretty pervasive. It was simple, free, and mostly used in emergencies. They gave it out at schools, training camps. It could heal injuries and sterilize malignant bacteria with almost no effort at all. All Andalites on this ship, therefore, should be outfitted. She wasn't. It was a weakness she didn't usually worry about, since it really didn't matter in space battles or addressing the Yeerk population or playing coy political games with the Council. She had an Andalite body, which made her an Andalite, at least to the people who mattered. She couldn't morph injuries away, which sucked sometimes, but the few injuries she'd sustained were more than manageable with other medical technology. Morphing was something she didn't really ever need.

But now, suddenly, my disability had become a liability. If this Andalite found out I couldn't morph, which meant I was stuck, which meant I wasn't even an Andalite...if anyone found out...

(Better back away,) I suggested. (They'll rip you to shreds once they find out.)

(I did not become Empress by giving up at the first sign of trouble,) she said with uncharacteristic arrogance. The snake in my stomach flared again, and she took a big breath, composing her face.

(Of course I know that,) Terliss said to the Andalite. (I require a secondary method. A back-up.)

(You don't need one. Stop wasting my time.)

(You certainly have a lot of incentive to lie. Sabotage the leader of the Yeerk invasion covertly, without any chance of blame or punishment? Do I need to remind you what will happen to her if something were to happen to me?) She gestured to the female Andalite, and the laser scalpel she was holding in her left hand clattered to the ground.

(Nnnnoo…) she whimpered, eyebrows turning up, hands shaking. Terliss glanced back at him, and for a moment, I was sure he was going to stab me through the chest.

But he didn't. Uncontrolled rage in his shaking shoulders calmed and churned within him. His hands rolled into fists, his stalk eyes zipped around, and his tail blade twitched faster than I could follow, main eyes drilling into the struggling woman.

(Your hope is a flame that warms me, my love. Do not give up. Giving up ensures their victory, and we will never see our son again. Find the strength within you to keep fighting. Take some of mine. Do not give up, my _Garibah_. Do not let them win.) There was some kind of surge of energy between them, silent and powerful, and the air got trapped in my lungs. The physician closed her eyes then bent down to pick up the scalpel.

(Forgive me, sir,) she said, glancing quickly up at me in shame. (It was sudden and expected. I shall work to control her better.)

Terliss' main eyes never left the uninfestable. The energy had ebbed. His shoulders shrunk, fists unclenched.

An Andalite voice came over the intercom. (Empress to the Bridge, incoming transmission from Sub-Visser 24.)

(Don't bother,) she said to the Sub-Visser. And to the uninfestable, she said: (Get something ready for me here, now.) To both of them: (Sub-Visser, make sure he doesn't try anything. I'll leave his guards. Open a direct channel to the Bridge if he does.)

We nearly flew down the hallway to the Bridge. Our pulse raced in joy. I could hear giggling in my head. I didn't know who it was. Maybe both of us. Maybe we were the same now. Maybe I only wanted what she wanted because she had taken me over, completely and irrevocably.

A chill of fear raced down our back. That was mine. It almost stopped Terliss in surprise.

(Didn't know you still had that in you,) she said, nodding to a Hork-Bajir guard who let us in the Bridge.

_I didn't either,_ I thought, and I felt a smile crawl to our stalk eye.

We entered the Bridge and immediately headed for the private communications panel. Yeerk cryptographers had been working tirelessly to decrypt the computer, but they still hadn't figured out how to add passwords and identification numbers and voiceprints to the database, so Nagrit's warm face was just there, waiting, patient, and seemingly as glad to see me as I was to see him.

(Terliss,) he said, smiling warmly. (I apologize for the delay in my communication.)

(What happened?) She blurted.

(Something very good has happened, Terliss. Good in many different ways. Prepare the docking bay; I'll arrive at the Dome Ship in roughly 30 minutes. I'm bringing a guest.)

We smiled and nodded as communications ended, but something didn't feel right to me. His voice sounded strained, forced. It was like he was lying, sugarcoating. He never lied. It made me uncomfortable. Frightened. Who was he bringing?

(Dear God, it better not be Visser Three,) Terliss groaned as we made our way to the docking bay.

Twenty-three minutes later, Nagrit's Bug Fighter docked to the Dome Ship, and he came out.

Immediately he cantered over to me, and it felt like I was going over the first drop on a huge roller coaster. I could barely contain myself. If the Yeerk weren't in my head, regulating my pulse and controlling my breathing and speaking for me, I damn near would have exploded. It had to be some sort of mixture of our combined elation. Did I myself feel this strongly? Or were Terliss' desires just becoming my own?

Nagrit touched my arm, a serious look in his eye. (I'm going to tell you as much as I can. He admitted to it, all right? He admitted that he lied and he's prepared to take full responsibility. It took days to drag it out of him, but…never mind. The Council already knows. I thought it best to tell them before I told you because I knew that's the first thing you'd want to do once you found out, and it would make you appear immature and selfish. Not that you're wrong, but that's what they'd see, and that's the last thing we need.)

(Nagrit, stop. What happened?)

Behind him, emerging from the dark, red shadows inside the Bug Fighter, came an old, tall Andalite who carried all of his experience and dignity in his shoulders. He walked slowly, purposefully. Each step seemed planned months beforehand. There was no improvisation. He was cool, composed, ready for anything.

(Esplin 9-4-_double_-6,) Terliss said, contrived smile coming to her eyes. (I thought it might be you.)

(Venerable Empress, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you in person,) he said with a bow that was a few degrees too slight.

(Why did you bring him, Nagrit?)

(We should adjourn to your quarters. We can be a little more private in there.)

Nagrit gestured Visser Three to go ahead, and he walked in the middle.

(You're being rather cautious, Nagrit,) Terliss laughed. (You know I'm not stupid or reckless enough to attack him or anything.)

(The last time this particular mission was explored, you vaporized a Hork-Bajir's head,) he said. (Trust me, please.)

I felt a surge of hope run through my chest, but I didn't know why. The snake slithered and wound tight, cancelling it out.

We made it to my quarters and Visser Three stepped inside, gazing out the window at the Pool Ship's dark silhouette against Saturn. (My host is quite impressed,) Visser Three said. (He's always wanted to step inside a Captain's quarters on a Dome Ship. Not under these circumstances, of course.)

(Visser, why don't you start at the beginning?) Nagrit asked, raising his tail a little bit.

It was only now that we saw the faintest tinge of fear in the visser's eyes. Terliss crossed our arms behind our back and dug our hoof in the grass impatiently.

(The Andalite Bandits have struck the primary Pool facility again,) he sighed, shoulders slumping, tail relaxing. (It appears, over the course of the last few months, they were slowly defiling the pool with temperature-sensitive mines. When they completed, they set the mines off by increasing the temperature of the floor heaters.)

(You don't want help cleaning up, do you?) Terliss asked. Visser Three chuckled for a moment, but the glint of comfort in his eye was short-lived.

(Only one of the Bandits ever reveals himself at a time. You must understand this before I proceed.)

(I oversaw your trial, Esplin. I witnessed them. Why is this relevant?)

(A seventh bandit emerged on the night they destroyed the pool. It was a female. A female revealing her true Andalite form.)

My eyes bulged and my hearts skipped a beat. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead and palms. Shins and shoulders exploded in mad tingling.

(Did you apprehend her?)

(No. She narrowly escaped. I even sent some Hork-Bajir scout troops into Earth society to quell her ascent. Two were disabled in a blast that destroyed a store in their urban bazaar. After interrogation, they admitted that she answered to the name of "Jennor.")

(Oh, God,) I whispered suddenly. It had been years since I'd accepted that Terliss had the capability to catch her. Weeks since I'd even thought about her. So long since I'd even bothered to picture her. But it had been almost 20 years! What would she look like now? The last memory I had of her was right before Sofor sent her off, a little girl with a grown man's weight on her shoulders. Part of me was thrilled, part of me terrified. Jennor was alive. Somehow, she'd survived that madman that had trained her, now only to be hunted and destroyed by the most vengeful, obsessed, powerful Yeerk in existence. I felt sick. But not physically.

Never physically.

Terliss turned away from Visser Three, tail whipping back and forth wildly. The snake within us was screaming, thrashing, gnawing, strangling. Fury pulsed through us with each beat of our hearts. We felt three times bigger than normal, puffing out like a cat come across a raccoon.

Nagrit came over and placed a hand on our shoulder. Our tail continued to twitch, so desperate to cut into living flesh that we nearly struck him. Visser Three watched us, pretending not to notice, but an unmistakable glint of curiosity was in his eye.

(Unhand me,) Terliss said, and Nagrit nodded obediently, standing back and at attention. She turned back to Visser Three, whose eyes were now coated in fear, ready to be killed, tortured, anything.

(What permission has the Council granted for this egregious error?) Terliss barked loud enough for both of them to hear.

(They want to question him themselves. They've decided to withhold sentencing until then.)

(When did this occur, Visser?) Terliss asked after a moment, letting some of the fury ebb from the veins in my temples.

(Three weeks ago.)

(You wouldn't have reported this at all had my assistant not come to inspect your infestation plan! You would have let her go, continue to wreak havoc on your operation, my war, until she destroyed us all!)

(I have been searching within and without the nearest urban area for her, sir. I've scoured the country side where one of the Andalite Bandits ambushed me before. I've searched everywhere for a scoop of some kind, a home base. I ordered the apprehension and infestation of local human trackers, but they are difficult to locate at such short notice, and I only recently put them to work. I have leads, but I—)

(Transfer all of your leads and likely useless knowledge to my ship,) Terliss ordered. (By imperial mandate, I hereby temporarily, and hopefully permanently, relieve you of your duty. Get packed up, Visser, you'll be in my brig in three days. Until Jennor is captured, I will lead the infestation effort on Earth. And when that happens, God help you.)

The Visser had gone pale, but she barely glanced at him. She stomped out of our quarters and inexplicably headed for the medical bay. We didn't make it there. Nagrit stopped me, grabbing my arm in the middle of the hallway.

(How is that good news, Nagrit?)

(Forget Visser Three, forget his failure, forget his incompetence. We know where she is, Terliss. We have a planet and a _local geographical area _to scour. We can import trackers, people who can find her, the technology to help them. She's as good as ours.)

She shook my head slowly. The snake stopped churning for a moment, but fear and broiling anger were heavy on my chest. (We'll find her,) Terliss said slowly, sighing. (But are we even sure that's a good thing?)

She allowed Visser Three to return to Earth. Her fury had ebbed, and she agreed he should still figurehead the invasion, though all of his decisions had to pass through her now. I felt a slow but accelerating terror in my mind. She was going to find Jennor. Somehow I was sure of it. She was going to find Jennor on the planet I used to call home. I hated that these were the conditions that allowed me to return to Earth. I hated that I would feed on Earth grass and wade in Earth water because I was searching for a little girl I loved. Why did relief always have to be so stressful?

(Are you ready to finally meet her?) Nagrit asked Terliss, stroking my flanks and rubbing the underside of my tail, when we were finally alone in my quarters.

(I don't think I am,) Terliss admitted.

(Don't worry about it. This is what you do. You'll crack her. She's just one an Andalite.)

A smile crawled to my eyes, but it was not for either of us, only to reassure Nagrit. (Yes. Only an Andalite.)


	45. Chapter Twenty Two: Jennor

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jennor

PART ONE OF FOUR

The heat of battle was a serene place. There were no politics. There was no judgment. No subterfuge, no deception. Only honesty. Only rage. Only truth.

A Hork-Bajir lunged before me. He drew one arm over his head. He cocked the other back behind him. Prepared to strike at me using the most elementary and suicidal of attacks. He had advanced more quickly than I anticipated. Normally, Hork-Bajir advanced at a constant rate of twelve meters per second. This one approached at fifteen.

(Behind you!) I looked behind me. Another Hork-Bajir's wrist blade hovered right above my spinal cord, in a flashbulb moment of terror. I felt Taxxon breath all around me. Gnashing needle teeth clicked and slurped everywhere.

I glanced back at Trainer. His eyes were big. His eyebrows were furrowed.

I flicked my tail blade behind me and knocked the Hork-Bajir away. The blunt end of my blade left a narrow impression on his skull. He dropped. His eyes bulged. He was dead.

The Hork-Bajir before me discharged. All of that elastic force trapped in his arm tendons was released. When executed properly, the wrist blade and elbow blade were meant to intersect inside the victim. I sliced off both of his hands just before impact. I cut through his jugular. He exploded like a firework, blood bursting forth in a floral display. The focus of the Taxxons shifted.

We fought in battles like this regularly. I was different to the Yeerks. I was attacked more often. This did not bother me.

Nothing bothered me.

The battle ended in stalemate. Most of them did. Few asteroids were left unclaimed. Some, like this one, were still under dispute, divided and unenforced. We had lost two yards off of our front lines. Princes were optimistic. I started home with Trainer.

We normally fought every third day. Battles lasted a little less than three hours. Some weeks, we would have to fight extra days. Most of the time, we didn't. Scheduling was done by the Princes. Trainer said we were lucky to fight so seldom. I said, (Yes, sir.)

Very little had changed in our daily routines.

Few people had noticed the disappearance of Borrifum. We left traces of him on a battle field some time later. He was discovered. His family was notified. An honorable sacrifice to the war.

I had contacted my father twenty months ago. I had wanted him to come get me. Prove his love for me. Reunite an imaginary family that I'd never really had. I had failed that mission. I learned something more valuable. Father had always intended for me to be a good warrior. A perfect warrior. Flawless in the ways that warriors needed to be. My failure had been the result of the final flaw I had retained through years of war. This flaw was hope. Hope marred my perception. Hope forced my mind away from the present, from the mission at hand. Hope was a distraction. It fueled imagination and longing. It made me inefficient. I was now without hope. This made me effective, smart, and focused. Princes noticed this. I did not dwell on the mistakes I had made, the deaths and carnage I had witnessed. I was always preparing for the next battle. I was always thinking about fighting.

About two months ago, Trainer had pulled me aside to have a personal conversation. Our intimacies together had not been fulfilling to him. I did not understand what had changed. Often times, he would cry once he completed, saying something like, (There really is nothing left.) He continued to try for some time. He was searching for something. He did not order me to help him find it. I performed my duty without question.

When he pulled me aside, he asked me if I was all right. I had learned that the only times he asked about my well-being was when he was most concerned about his own.

(I am adequate, sir.)

(Of course. You're healthy, beautiful, strong, effective. But are you all right?)

(Yes, sir.)

(I don't think you understand my question. I can see that there's nothing wrong with you. But I feel that something is.)

(What is wrong with me, sir?)

(That's what I'm asking you.)

I did not know what to say. He did not like to be pandered to. There was nothing wrong with me.

(There is nothing wrong with me, sir.)

(Did I accidentally kill you?) He said, stroking my face with his hand. (Is there anything left inside there?)

I said nothing. He was not addressing me.

Since then, the frequency of our encounters had diminished. He had tried one last time seven weeks ago. I do not believe it even happened. I had taken to imagining I was elsewhere during them. They used to cause me pain. They used to cause me pleasure.

They caused me nothing anymore.

Nothing caused me pain anymore. Battles were simple affairs without much threat. It made me an effective fighter. Limbs lost, blood spilled. No emotional attachment to anything. I was fearless.

(I don't feel like we should stay here much longer. I don't think there's anything left for us here.) Trainer had said two weeks ago. I was cleaning my Shredder. It had become a part of my daily routine.

(Yes, sir.)

(I mean, don't get me wrong, we've made friends. I've made friends. I like people here. This place just feels...crowded, no? Crowded, or drab. Restless or something.)

He was using Beta Communication. I was not. He looked at me for a few moments before continuing.

(Perhaps I am wrong. I believe we can stay here. We're comfortable. You're comfortable, no?)

(Yes, sir.) He narrowed his eyes. He sighed. This did not worry me.

Nothing worried me. Perhaps it should have.

Trainer didn't speak to me for two more weeks. This did not affect our routine. I woke up. I fed in the biosphere on days with battles. I was used to hunger. It did not bother me. I cleaned my Shredder. I practiced tail fighting. I cleaned the chalky filth from my hooves with the device Borrifum had given me. I attempted to keep my fur clean. The dust dried out my skin. It did not bother me. I appeared more fearsome with healthy skin.

We fought in that last battle in the asteroid belt.

It was not difficult. It was not different. Trainer asked me to acquire a dying Hork-Bajir at the end of the battle. We had scared away the bloodthirstiest Taxxons. The Hork-Bajir's arms and throat were still gurgling blood. His eyes were mean and angry. He snapped his jaws at me when I reached for him. I pressed my hand against his beak and eased his suffering.

(It's strange I've never had you acquire a Hork-Bajir or Taxxon before,) Trainer laughed as we headed home. (Even if you never use them, they're good tools to have, no?)

(You plan for me to use it,) I said, staring into his eyes. His eyebrows turned up again. He looked away. I had not meant it as an accusation. I did not wonder why that is how he took it.

Later that night, Trainer began packing up his things. He told me to do the same.

(We are leaving this system,) I stated flatly.

(Yes. Would you like to know where we are going?)

(It is not important,) I said. Trainer was looking at me with a smile. It did not convey happiness.

(I wish you wouldn't say that.)

(All right, sir.)

Trainer suddenly dropped what he was doing. He rushed over to me. He wrapped his arms under my shoulders.

(I wanted to make you happy,) he cried in a voice he'd never used before. A high, unnatural, vulnerable voice. (I knew I could do it. I know I can. How did I fail? What did I do wrong? How could I hurt what I meant to please? Why can't I convey trust and love and loyalty? What is wrong with me? Why do I push everyone away? Why do they always run, abandon me, why did you do this, Jennor? Why did you leave?)

He bawled into my neck for seventeen minutes. His fingers gripped my back. His tail curled tight against his body. I suppose I could have read what he was thinking. I did not do that anymore. I allowed him to continue. My arms hung loose and uncomforting at my sides. I watched the entrance. It was dark outside. Everyone was home for the night. Trainer pulled his face away. He pressed his hand against my face. He looked into my eyes.

(You are not her,) he said in his own voice again. He stared at me for some time. His eyes grew stronger. His posture straightened. His tail uncoiled.

Finally Trainer let go. He wiped his face and caught his breath. He did not look at me. I continued to pack.

We left the asteroid belt the next morning.

Princes came to bid us farewell. They had never grown accustomed to me. They saluted curtly. They turned aside. They talked to Trainer for a long time. They laughed. They liked him. They touched him with their hands. This is something Andalite acquaintances never do. They were no longer acquaintances.

I had not been on the ship in months. It hadn't changed much. Limited upkeep kept the grass alive. The water filters were functional. It would suffice.

Trainer did not tell me where we were going. He had offered before. I did not ask. I was not curious. We would arrive. I would perform my duty. The battle would end. Trainer would grow restless. We might win. We might lose. We would leave. The rest of my life was very clear. We would continue to travel. Trainer would make friends. Trainer would grow bored. We would go somewhere else.

Trainer spent his time at the control panel. His eye stopped watching me. I posed no threat or interest to him. I practiced tail fighting. I studied combat history. My form was nearly flawless. Any tinge of weakness I felt during any particular move was immediately trained and strengthened. Muscles in my arms even bulged slightly. I could pull grass from the ground with my fist.

We traveled for five months. We exited Zero-Space near a red giant. Filters on the viewscreen refracted much of the light. They were imperfect, ineffective. I felt warmth on my hands. I pressed them against the window. Blood flowed through my fingers. I could feel my pulse.

(Jennor,) Trainer said. His voice sounded strained. He hadn't said anything to me in weeks. (I want you to prepare. We have a...personal mission here.)

(Where is here?)

(The Hork-Bajir homeworld,) he said, turning the ship slightly. A gray planet with deep, green cracks spun into view. Scattered pieces of Andalite and Yeerk spacecraft littered its orbit. Yeerk sentry ships curled in high orbit on the view screen. I did not know Trainer had installed cloaking technology into his ship. I pulled my hands away from the window.

(What is the mission?)

He turned to look me in the eye. He did not blink. (We are very fortunate to have received this assignment. There is some leftover technology that the Electorate wants retrieved. Only recently have they realized the importance it holds for the future of the war. It will be difficult to land the ship, so I'll drop you off at the top of a tree. You'll be in Hork-Bajir morph, so you'll just climb down and retrieve the item.)

(What is the item?)

(It's this,) he said. He conjured a holographic image of some circular, barbed tool I did not recognize. (You'll be able to find it in the Tactic-Prince's scoop in the meridian valley. I'll get you a map, so you can...) he trailed off for a moment. He cradled his head in his hand. (So you can find it.)

(Yes, sir. How long until we reach the planet?)

He gazed out the window for a while. His stalk eyes floated above his head like seakelp.

(Is twenty minutes long enough for you to prepare?)

(Yes, sir.)

(Twenty minutes, then.)

Twenty minutes later, I had morphed to Hork-Bajir form. I strapped my holster around my thick waist. I secured my Shredder inside. I waited at the hatch for Trainer.

(Here,) he said, holding out an oxygen mask. (You'll need this to protect yourself from the Quantum Virus.)

I held the mask in my strong, clawed hand. (Sir, permission to ask a question.)

(Of course, Jennor, what is it?)

(Is the Quantum Virus still active?)

Trainer paused. (Probably not. This is a precaution.)

(Would it make more sense for me to descend as an Andalite?)

(No, no, not at all. Though this valley is unexploited and uninhabited, Yeerk patrol ships still occasionally scan from orbit. If their sensors picked up Andalite DNA—)

(They haven't detected our ship?)

His face went slightly gray. (I said occasionally. I scanned. They're not here. They could be on the surface.)

(Wouldn't the virus affect them just as vehemently?)

Trainer opened the hatch.

(Are you ready, Jennor?)

I looked down. The first branch of the tallest tree was dozens of feet below us.

(The ship is too far up, sir. We'll need to descend further in order to—)

I didn't have my stalk eyes. I hadn't considered that this might be a problem.

I looked back at Trainer. His Shredder was trained on me.

(Get out, Jennor.)


	46. Chapter Twenty Two: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

I felt my eyes narrow.

(You're going to kill me,) I said. It was somewhere between question and fact.

(Do it now, Jennor. Make it easy on both of us.)

(You're threatening the life of your _aristh_.)

(Jennor, please just go. This is what you want. This is what I need to do. This is better. Cleaner.)

(You're breaking the law.)

He cocked his weapon. I heard the momentary surge of energy that indicated the gun was going to fire.

I seized the weapon suddenly in my strong hand and pulled it from his. It misfired, blowing a large, molten hole up through the hull of the ship. I tried to gain control of the weapon. It slipped from my hands. It clattered on the ground. It slid out of the hatch. Trainer's eyes blazed. His tail struck quickly and often. He aimed at my holster. I could not retrieve my Shredder.

I could not fight as a Hork-Bajir. Every move I made was reverse-engineered from the studies of Hork-Bajir combat I had completed years ago. How would a Hork-Bajir warrior handle an Andalite similar in height and weight to Trainer? They'd try to cut down his legs. How could I do this? Violence was not instinctual to the Hork-Bajir. He smelled unharvested trees. He was hungry. He was afraid. He was not angry.

I kicked Trainer in the leg. I heard a snap. He cried out in frustration. His leg buckled. He stumbled. He struck at my head with his tail. I blocked with a wrist blade.

I was defending myself. I was not winning. I took small steps back all the time. Cuts opened all over my body. Little bits of flesh and blade littered the ground. Greasy blood slipped down my body in curling rivulets. I felt my heels slip out of the ship.

(You broke my heart, Jennor, and I smothered yours.) His tail blade was at my throat. He turned the flat side against my carotid. I felt a small push, pressure on my wind pipe. Without the use of my tail, I lost my balance.

He underestimated the reach of my arms.

A surge of fire, unprecedented, unexpected. Hate, trapped for so long, blazed up like a tsunami. I loathed those dark, amused eyes. The smug posture, crossed arms, lazy tail. The self-entitlement. The tempered guilt, unrelenting need. I was not enough like this. I was disposable like this. I had gone from frustrating puzzle to trash. He ruined me, and now he would kill me.

_No._

My arm reached forward. His eyes widened. He tried to retreat inside the ship. His hooves could find no traction on the brittle, blood-soaked grass. I felt his cool, vulnerable skin on my hand. Grabbing his neck was no different than grabbing the branch of some tree. My fingers wrapped around the pulsing flesh. I squeezed. I wanted his neck to pop open like a ripe insect. Squirt sideways. Leak his venomous blood all over his stolen ship. But I was slipping. I dug my claws into the back of his neck from instinct. His eyes were open wide. Terrified. Unready. I began to fall.

I did not see what happened. I could feel it. My claws ripped uncleanly through the skin on his neck, leaving four horizontal openings like bloody gills. Desperately, I wrapped my hand around his jugular like a handle.

It popped out of his body with a crunch. Blood poured from the wound like rain. I felt it hit my eye when I careened out of the ship. I was still holding it when I hit the first branch.

There was nothing else after that.

I opened my eyes hours later. My body had entered some sort of trauma-induced hibernation. It was night now in the narrow sky above the valley. The stars were white, blue, and orange. Some error in fortune allowed me to see Andal. Small. Light from hundreds of years ago. A time I did not know.

I breathed in. Three ribs had burst through my side and into my foamy lung. I tried to move my toes. Nothing. Tail. Nothing. Arms. Nothing. Tongue. Yes. I could move my tongue.

I attempted to lean my head forward to survey the damage. I could not lift it very far. I then realized one of my eyes was blind. The other was clouded in deep green blood. It had been difficult to realize from the limited supply of light.

I was going to die.

It was unlike the last time. I felt no pleasure. I felt no comfort. I felt nothing. I hadn't been paralyzed the last time. Perhaps that was the difference. Perhaps it was something else. I did not know. I only knew my death was imminent. I would die in Hork-Bajir form. I would die as an Andalite should.

I began the Andalite death ritual. (I am the servant of the People,) I began, replaying the events that got me to this position. (I am the servant of my prince,) I continued. I wondered if I could say the words effectively without meaning them.

_Hello,_ a far-away voice said. My time was short. The after-life was near. The greeter was audible.

(I am the servant of honor.)

(Is anyone there? Hello?)

Yes. Imagination alone was no longer culpable. He was coming for me. I felt the urge to flee. I quieted it. My death had come with honor. I would be a fool to refuse it.

(My life is not my own, when the People have need of it. My life is given for the People...) I sighed, unwilling to continue.

(I can hear you, please finish it. I have triangulated your position, but the life-form scanner is...oh, there you are.)

_Life-form scanner?_

I heard leaves crunching in the slanted ground. I turned my gaze in that direction. I could not move my head. The Hork-Bajir eyes worked poorly at night. Shadows and apparitions rolled through the darkness. A figure emerged. He crunched forward slowly, turned on a blinding searchlight that obscured his form. I blinked away the blindness. He turned it off. Two dirty, unkempt, flaking hooves stood directly in front of my eyes.

(You know, I haven't seen a Hork-Bajir in this valley in seventeen years. And I haven't heard real thought-speech in almost three decades. Either I'm dreaming or I'm dead. I wouldn't be particularly upset about either.)

He stood scanning me for a while. I stayed silent. What Andalite had decided to stay on the Hork-Bajir homeworld? Who would do such an abhorrent thing?

(You'll be in pulmonary arrest in less than ten minutes. I brought some tools with me, but I have to go get them, so stay here.)

(I assure you that I am going no where,) I replied.

This stopped him. He gazed down at me, curious, surprised.

(You really are real, aren't you?)

He left a little later. He returned soon with a small cube. An Escafil Device. It had been very long since I had seen one. This one seemed different.

(I am currently in morph. I have passed the two-hour limit. You know that I cannot reuse it,) I said.

(Maybe. Maybe not. It's an improved version. I haven't had an opportunity to test it. It will either work, it won't, or it will kill you.)

(It seems I have little choice,) I responded.

(I'll do it. Here,) he said, squatting down. He held the cube low, lifting my Hork-Bajir hand against it. It glowed bright for a moment. I did not feel the pleasurable spark like last time.

(Well, it didn't kill you. Go ahead and try to demorph,) he said.

I obeyed.

It should have been impossible. I should have been dead. I demorphed. I felt my ribs crawl back into my body. My spine realigned itself, lengthened, and bent in a 90-degree angle. My tail narrowed, blade elongated. Stalk eyes snaked from my head. My hands weakened. Spines everywhere disintegrated into supple, mammalian skin. Very soon, I was Andalite again.

I struggled to my hooves. I turned to the man. My vision was familiar, but it was still too dark to see him. He was Andalite. Elderly. Emaciated. Breathing shallow.

(You really are real,) he repeated. He stood very still. (What is your name, girl?)

I considered this for a moment.

Trainer was out of my life for good. I had killed him. I scanned the sky above me with my sensitive stalk eyes. No trace of his ship. This Andalite hadn't mentioned one yet. Perhaps it had been on autopilot, set to depart as soon as I disembarked. He was dead, aboard it, flying unchecked to his next destination.

I was alone.

I was without supervision.

I could tell him whatever version of the truth I wanted, without the threat of contradiction or even punishment.

(My name is Warrior Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) I said. It was not a lie. I had been offered a promotion, in a different form, to a different name. I was a Warrior. I felt like one. I had earned it. I wanted to be known as one.

(Female warriors? How desperate our princes have become,) he scoffed. I was not insulted.

(I am in need of a Prince, sir. Can you state your name and designation?) I asked, brushing dirt off my hand in a veiled attempt to warm them. He did not respond right away. I looked up at him.

(I will invite you to my scoop,) he said, (and I will not ask you what caused your compatriot to dump you out of a ship from a thousand feet up.)

We walked for hours. The sun finally cracked into the valley six hours later. It was then that I got a good look at my savior. He was old—very old—older than Father, even. Wisps of tan fur lined his flanks. Other than that, he was bald. Dirt and scum clogged every crack and pore of his sagging skin. It seemed he hadn't bathed in decades. Green grass stains reached up to the middle of his thighs. The mixture of the elements in his blue skin gave him the impression of a misshapen, watery planet. His hands were callused and dry. Veins bulged and coiled through his legs and forearms. His crystal eyes were alive, alert, wild. He seemed less than civilized.

It took us until mid-day to reach his scoop. We had to walk all the way down the increasingly steep valley. I fed on strange, but moist, grass. It rose into my body and strengthened me. We did not talk for many hours. At one point, we reached a makeshift staircase. It seemed constructed by Andalite hands.

Finally, my companion burst into conversation. (The funny part is I don't usually scan anymore.) He was bouncing in Form Beta. (But I don't know, I woke up yesterday morning and I thought I'd turn on my scanner. I just wanted to check that it still worked, I suppose. Keeping things working is one of the only things I've got left.)

(You were marooned here,) I guessed. It was clear he was trapped here after the battle for Hork-Bajir. I was trying to figure out who he was, to see if I could put a name to the face and demeanor.

(You could say that,) he answered. (But really! A ship! An Andalite ship! Almost thirty years later! I never thought I'd see one again. It wasn't a new model, was it? It seemed slightly different than the ones I knew, I suppose. But not too different. I thought they'd fix the balance issues in atmosphere by narrowing the engines, but that is such a difficult problem according to some engineers I know, and...)

He continued unchecked for some time. I was cautious about interrupting him. It was clear this was the first social contact he had had in decades.

We continued to descend deep within the valley. (This is where the mist would start,) he said as we crossed some obvious threshold. The moss had stopped crawling along the valley walls. The grass was long and tasteless. (The Arn were killed off decades ago. I've taken care of most of the monsters in this valley. Reprogrammed some, to ensure that I'm left alone, but rogues still migrate in from other valleys sometimes, so keep a lookout.)

(The Yeerks are not here,) I said.

(Oh, they're here. They just don't like this valley.)

(Why?)

(Well, let's just say that I know Yeerks well enough to know what scares them.)

About twenty minutes later, we reached a point where the ground had been artificially flattened. My companion fumbled with his tool belt. He pulled out some kind of remote control, pressed a button, and an inaudible humming lowered in frequency and dissipated. He stepped forward with his hand outreached. Satisfied, he clopped forward. Large, fan-like, green leaves covered something. He peeled them away, revealing a small Andalite ship.

(Isn't it beautiful?) He asked. (I've been building it for twenty years. Well, it's done, I guess, for the most part. It will fly. I've taken it up in orbit a couple of times. I just want to add more details. Make it prettier.)

(It is beautiful,) I replied. A genuine and proud smile came to his eyes.

(I don't even know that much about ship-building. I'm an anthropologist by trade. I got promoted within the military, for my diplomatic talents. Lot of good that did,) he muttered nearly inaudibly. I felt a wave of familiarity. I ignored it.

He hid the ship again with the leaves. He beckoned me behind it. In a small alcove within the valley walls were his living quarters. I could not tell if it was a natural cave or a small shelter he had carved from the rock. Blue tube lights outlined the edges of it. To my surprise, a woman came out of the cave, smiling brightly. Something was not quite right about her.

(It is good to see you home, Seerow,) she said. He ran past her, inside, fumbling with something on a desk. He pressed a button on the controls. She flickered and disappeared.


	47. Chapter Twenty Two: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

(Holograms,) he sighed, waving the control. (I just get so lonely, and—)

(You are Seerow,) I said, staring at him. He looked down.

(I suppose I just should have told you. I just didn't want you running off, it's been years since—)

(I do not believe I could have run anywhere when we first met,) I said. He glanced up at me. He smiled. (You were killed in an assault thirty years ago.)

(That's what I let everyone believe,) he said. (My wife and son were killed. I narrowly escaped. Mere chance, really, a single pocket of cool oxygen left in the explosion. My daughter lived. I considered for some time finding her, getting her off this rock, but she...she found someone else.)

I did not know much history about the Hork-Bajir battle. I knew enough.

(You hid throughout the conflict,) I said. (You waited for it to end.)

(My crime was convicted, sentence delivered,) he said. (What other choice did I have? Go home and spend the rest of my life living in shame, without a family?)

I shrugged. I should have been disgusted. He'd saved my life.

We were both outcasts. It would have been fair for me to tell him my crime. I should have told him how disgusting I was. I did not.

(The hologram is convincing,) I said after some time.

(Thank you,) he said. (Other than the ship, and all my other little hobbies, I like working with holograms. I make them of everybody. My wife, my son, my daughter. Even that thankless prince who ruined me. They're very difficult, you see. So much of our brains are devoted to facial recognition, it's very easy for us to spot impostors. It's an evolutionary wonder the Yeerks are so good at their deception. Personality subroutines are also difficult. I programmed them to respond convincingly, to say things that made sense in conversational context. Even so, they are not quite alive. They are not quite enough. But you...) he said, turning his gaze toward me. (You are real.)

I looked down. For some reason, I did not agree.

He spent some time showing me the other things he had worked on during his exile. He had improved some weapons. Shredders with infra-red targeting systems that could work in absolute dark. Ionic dispersion cannon blasts whose light energy he had pushed far into the ultra-violet band that they appeared invisible, even to Andalite eyes. He had constructed vast, sensitive satellite systems in orbit that could reach through Zero-Space, detect radio signals, and pull them back. He spent countless hours researching Andalite and Yeerk broadcasts for any news he could find. He even listened to alien broadcasts—Anati, Dayang, Garatron, and human.

(I know a human,) I said. (I mean, I know of them. What do you hear?)

(I hear a lot of very frightening things,) he said. (Yeerk forces have begun a secret infiltration of the race, which consists of billions of specimens. Very few Andalite forces admit to the power that Earth holds in the overall scheme of the war. One Dome Ship is headed there as we speak.)

(We should join them,) I said.

(I'd considered it. I built this ship for...well, I don't really know why I built it. Just to see if I could. And I did. And Earth needs help, but what could I do alone? Besides, Earth is three years away through Zero Space. It is an unfortunate situation, one I do not believe we will positively impact.)

(Are we not going to try?)

Seerow looked away. His hesitation seemed to stem from a different influence. He was afraid to leave.

(You can redeem yourself,) I said, attempting to make my voice sound emotional. (You can use what you have built for good.)

(They think I am dead. They like that I am dead.)

(They will like even more that you are alive.)

He looked away for a long time. His breaths were deep, his thoughts resolute. I was patient. I was not in a hurry to leave. I had not thought much about what my current circumstances were. What all of this meant to me.

It meant nothing. I felt nothing. It had happened. The effects were irrelevant.

After nearly a half an hour, he looked back at me. (You want to go with me,) he said softly, purposefully. (You are not disgusted by my presence. Did fate itself deliver you? Were you destined always to land here, to meet me, to travel with me? Were you sent by a higher...no, I'm being silly. This is silly. I'm sorry. You're real, though. I just never...you're really real.)

I did not contradict him. (What is your decision?)

(We should go,) he said, sighing. (We should go, because you are here, and it is too late for me.)

(Too late for what?) I asked.

(Nothing, Warrior. We'll leave in three days.)

I helped Seerow pack for those three days. Days lasted a short amount of time on the Hork-Bajir moon. Dawn to dusk was only a 6-hour window. Even then, the sun was often interrupted by eclipses caused by the moons and large pieces of abandoned debris. Seerow had told me it was autumn, now, and the days were getting even shorter. He knew this was going to be his last winter on this planet. I did not ask how.

He showed me the rest of his holograms. I asked what other practical purposes they could serve. He said they could conceal just as effectively as they could reveal. He wrapped a cord containing a small emitter around his neck and walked around headless for a few minutes. I think he wanted me to laugh. I did not react.

(It's also good for spying on Yeerk facilities. In other valleys, the Yeerks had begun developing scanners that could detect the presence of a Yeerk in a host's head. You know, for internal security. Technology we've had for decades, which made it easy to overcome. I calibrated an emitter to Yeerk energy signatures and duped the scanner. Those were early models, of course, and technology has almost certainly improved, but I think these are...yes, these should still suffice for that kind of espionage.)

(That's very clever,) I said. He smiled.

(I've had lots of time to think, Jennor, and lots of time to tinker. All these resources, Yeerk and Andalite, were abandoned after the release of the Quantum Virus. So much raw potential here. And all I had was time.)

We boarded the ship early on the morning of the third day. The grass was soft and native. The ceiling reflected warm colors of Andalite sky. I'd nearly forgotten how red mingled with pink and purple so subtly. I would require no bucket of water to sustain my hydration. Seerow gave me a short tour. There were two rooms in the ship. It had been meant for one occupant. Seerow offered the quarters to me. He said he was more comfortable in the bridge. I accepted hesitantly.

We brought all of his belongings onto the ship. Seerow touched my shoulder. He was holding a medkit. He looked at me with seriousness.

(I need to tell you about this, Jennor,) he said. (Inside this box are all of my most important inventions. Miniaturized holographic emitters. Some of the weapons I told you about. Of course, medical equipment, as it is a medkit. But this...) he said, holding up the Escafil Device he had used to cure me. (If something happens to me, I need you to protect this. Or destroy this. It's...powerful.)

(It repairs the technology undone by _nothlits_,) I said. (What is so important about that?)

(That's not all it does. I've been keeping up with advances in morphing technology. There haven't been many; most of the research and development resources have gone to the war effort. This is my prized invention. More than my ship, more than my holograms. I've solved problems scientists gave up on long ago. Solutions that have created their own problems.)

(What problems?) I asked.

(You haven't tested it, and I don't expect you to trust me, but you can morph into anything and remain in that morph as long as you want. The _nothlit _glitch is fixed. Retaining access to Zero-Space no longer requires an exponential energy output. That was not my breakthrough, but one that, for some reason, scientists had not applied to the morphing technology. More than this, however, is the eradication of a default form. The technology used in the previous device stored all of the DNA you had acquired in the default form. Your Andalite body. When that mass was expelled into Zero-Space, the DNA went with it. Only bits of your default DNA remained in your morphed body, so that you could demorph. But with this...all that acquired DNA is maintained and accessible. It was a programming nightmare that took years to work out. The old technology relied on the default form to reset each morph, so that the information encoded within the morph would not get jumbled, so it wouldn't create massive randomized hybrids comprised of all the DNA you'd ever acquired. But not anymore. You don't have to demorph anymore, Jennor. Now you can morph directly from one form to another.)

A wave of discomfort passed over me. I did not like that he was calling me Jennor. That is not what caused the discomfort.

(Immortality,) I whispered. (You've achieved theoretical immortality.)

(Of course not,) he scoffed, but there was a note of pride and assent in his voice. (Morphing can heal injuries, yes, but some injuries don't give you enough reaction time to undo. If you get shot in the head, or decapitated, or crushed from above, there's little that can be done. But age is no longer an issue. Sickness is no longer an issue. Once you wear out your current form, you can pick or make a new one, remain for as long as it lasts, and continue the cycle as long as you can sustain it.)

(I don't want it,) I said suddenly, irrationally. I felt more discomfort rise within me. (Undo it. Take it back. I don't want it.)

(Don't panic, please. I know this is difficult...it needs to be kept secret. If anyone, Yeerk or Andalite or other, figured this out...no. If something happens to me—)

(Don't ask this of me, Trainer, please,) I said. His eyebrows turned up.

(Destroy it if I die, all right, Jennor? It's just as fragile as an Escafil Device. There are no plans. Don't let anyone reverse-engineer more. Destroy the Aldrea's Cube.)

I was hyperventilating. Stumbling, losing my footing, clutching my breast. I couldn't breathe. The thought that this couldn't kill me only made it worse.

Seerow gave me something to calm down. We took off. I watched the planet I was sure would be my final resting place descend from view.

The trip was long and slow.

It took me a very long time to accept Seerow's truth.

I distracted myself with his computers.

His computers could hold zettabytes of information. Over the course of decades, he downloaded information from all the cultures under his surveillance. He had more information than an army could get through in centuries. I delved readily. I informed myself as fully about humans as I could. I spent weeks scouring their strange culture, learning about their biology, introducing myself to their society. I remembered things Terernia had taught me. Cross-referenced them. Soda pop. Led Zeppelin. World War II.

Seerow sometimes touched my shoulder. He did this because he had done it once before. Sometimes I allowed it. Other times I shook off his hand. He responded to this. It still did not make me feel comfortable.

Sometimes he asked me personal questions. I would answer in clipped, vague sentences. I did not know my mother. My father performed bravely on the Hork-Bajir planet. I did not feel a connection to it. I'd been a warrior for a long time. I had no brothers or sisters.

All of these things felt like lies.

For three years, Seerow continued to converse with me. I did not mind. I minded when he asked me questions. He seemed more thrilled to have someone to listen than to have someone to talk. I allowed him to talk. He spoke about his life, his ideals, his family. His hopeful dream to unite the galaxy shattered by the Yeerks. He asked me if I hated them. I said, (No. I do what must be done.) He asked me if I hated him. I said, (I hate nothing, Seerow.)

At certain points in our voyage, it seemed he was losing interest in me. He would watch me for a long time with sad eyes. I would pretend not to notice. Sometimes he stared for too long. I asked what was troubling him. He would say, (I am troubled by the things I have caused.) I did not know how to respond.

Of course, Seerow did not bother me all of the time. I studied for hours each day. Seerow gave me complete access to his computers. I was not under his surveillance. He did not check what I had browsed. Having known me for less than a week, he trusted me more than Trainer ever had.

I felt no guilt over what I had done. Murdering a Prince was a capital offense. Self-defense was not.

The amount of information at my disposal, coupled with the fact I could view it freely, gave me courage in my searches.

One day, I told the computer to give me all the information it had on Hermilians.


	48. Chapter Twenty Two: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

Gigabytes of data flowed into short-term computer storage. I handled it quickly and greedily. The first articles and sources were coy and politically correct. I skimmed through those. They did not tell me much. Veiled contempt was evident in their writing styles. I searched more deeply.

Unofficial histories stretching back tens of thousands of years were more helpful. I started in the middle. I skipped to new sources when something struck my curiosity. An Hermilian despot had executed close to four million Andalites in late autumn one year. This was why the Andalites had a day of remembrance and atonement right before the beginning of our mild winter. This despot had had seven wives, each of whom bore two children. This began a reign of terror in history that stretched five hundred years. The Andalite race had been nearly wiped out, refugees hiding in small underground cells, blind to the suns for decades. More leaders like this were evident, coming into power every couple thousand years or so. I viewed classified population graphs of the Andalite planet, comparing Hermilian and Andalite population densities. The two lines weaved and bobbed like dueling sine curves. The Hermilian line was always below the Andalite one, except for two intersections, directly after which both populations dropped drastically. It seemed normal Andalites had committed their fair share of attempted genocides. I viewed the current position in history. I was a member of a supposedly dead race.

A great Hermilian extermination had occurred five hundred years ago. This was the most recent large historical event I could find having to do with Hermilians. Since then, arrogant leaders and presidents would sometimes take censuses to prove the eradication of their villainous and troublesome brother race. Hermilians would be found. The leaders were expelled from office.

I did not understand the contempt. I did not know why, besides the actions of a few terrible people, I was so feared. I crushed my hands together. What did it mean?

Impersonal histories were an insufficient means of understanding. I needed something closer.

I read personal accounts of Andalites who claimed to know Hermilians. Some of those they accused were tortured and burned. Some were executed. Few were let go.

_They will slowly siphon out your brain and replace it with their own. You won't feel it. They anesthetize your reasoning, any instincts of self-preservation. You can't react. You smile and nod and tell them, (Yes. Continue. It is nice.) They pulverize your soul, keep small enough particles inside your body so you stay alive. You are a mere tool to them. And all they have to do is look into your eyes. – _Jarateen-Poturrin-Shamtul, 6243.4

_She didn't tell me exactly what drew me to her. She was beautiful. She told me she wanted me to kill her old lover. I did not question it. I thought I loved her. I had only fallen under her spell. _– Ratreet (second and third name unprovided, date unknown).

Hyperpsychotic senses. Mind-reading. Manipulation. Puppeteering. I wanted to understand what really made me different. I viewed maps of circulatory systems. Blood composition. Genomes, never complete, entirely incomprehensible. I was a warrior by trade and did not have the medical expertise to decipher any physical difference between the two.

I tried to find personal accounts of Hermilians in the database. Most were inaccessible, deleted, or purged. I could only find one quote from anyone who had admitted to Hermilian heritage.

_I surrender._ _–_ anonymous, 3241.65

I shut off the computer. I had learned enough.

I felt whispers of confusion, disgust with myself. Every word in those accounts was so sure, so despising. At the same time, I did not understand what made me that way. I had not asked for this. I did not want it.

I decided not to dwell on it. It had been unprofessional of me to indulge my curiosity for so long. I continued my lessons in math, science, and history. I tried to forget.

It was very difficult.

Over the course of three years, I matured into the form I assumed I would take into adulthood. I grew two more inches. Seerow provided me with vitamins and nutrients normally delivered by the younger sun that I had not been consuming regularly. I felt stronger. On my twentieth birthday, only one year shy of complete maturation, Seerow wished me a fortunate day and many years of happiness. He informed me we were only one month away from Earth.

There was a vague sense of excitement as we drew close to the strange planet on the edge of the galaxy. I remembered Terenia. I vaguely remembered the happiness, or at least comfort, that I'd experienced in her presence. I liked comfort. I could no longer feel comfort. I could no longer feel anything.

Seerow and I predicted that we could slip into the Earth solar system relatively undetected. He'd calibrated the cloaking device to repel Yeerk scanners.

Of course, he had calibrated it three years ago.

The scanner first started beeping after we passed Mars. I gazed at it uncertainly.

(Just a glitch, probably. I wouldn't worry about it too much.)

It did not stop beeping.

(Computer, locate the nearest Yeerk vessel.)

(Two million kilometers and closing.)

(They have sensed us,) I said calmly.

(No. That's impossible.) He rushed into my quarters, where he stored some of his less vital inventions. He retrieved hand-held scanning equipment and plugged it into the computer.

(What are you doing?) I asked.

He put on virtual glasses and tapped into the scanners on the Yeerk ship.

(They have sensed us,) he confirmed. (Jennor, take weapons. If we can just get on the planet, we'll be all right.)

I did not turn to the computer. I looked at Seerow. A vague sense of calmness had come over him. He was not moving as I would expect.

(You never intended for this to work,) I stated.

Seerow looked up at me. There was justified guilt in his eyes.

(I'm sorry, Jennor. I'd been dying for thirty years, but nothing would kill me. I myself was the last option. I'd been putting it off for weeks, and I was sure, the day you landed...you would have died if I hadn't saved you. You gave me three more years of hope. But I started an unwinnable war. It would be foolish, ironic, a joke for me to go down fighting in it.)

I looked at the control panel. The first of the Yeerk ships were within range. I fired the Shredders and missed.

(Did you sabotage the weapons as well?)

(I've always hated that Shredders are designed to pull to the right. Haven't you?)

I fired at the first swarm of Bug Fighters. They swooped above, below, to the right and left. They fired, throwing us from our hooves, alarms blaring in our ears and minds.

(Microscopic hull breaches port, starboard, and aft. Emergency force fields in effect. Oxygen depletion negligible. Fuel cells damaged. Weapons systems functional but faltering.) The computer's voice was calm, cold, emotionless.

(I do not think we will make it to the planet,) I said as sweat ran between my eyes.

We pushed towards Earth's moon. A Blade ship was waiting there. Bug Fighters kept firing, picking us apart like buzzards. I tried to bat them away. It did little good.

(That's the same move they used on Elfangor,) Seerow said. I looked back at him. He was smiling. (Kind of feels nice to go down like a hero of that magnitude, doesn't it?)

(Fly the ship, Seerow.)

(I can't, Jennor.)

(Controls damaged irreparably. Auto-pilot disengaged. Attitude failing.)

We passed Earth's moon and the ship fell into Earth's gravitational vortex. I used the scanners to glance behind me. The Blade Ship was powering up its Dracon Beam.

(Sheilds down. Structural integrity failing.)

(That will do it,) Seerow said, pulling his hands from the controls of the ship and smiling at me.

For a moment, I couldn't help but be impressed. Seerow had planned his own suicide so intricately that he couldn't be blamed for it. He had broken no law. He had executed a minor error in judgment, and now his death, the thing he desired most greatly, was upon him.

A very rational decision.

The beam hit us, and the ship lit up like a sun. I could see nothing but white. I was dead. I knew it. My time had finally come.

But, no.

The ship was spinning, careening towards Earth. I was on the ground. I glanced behind me. Seerow was crumpled, turned over and broken, grotesquely reassembled. I pulled myself to my hooves. I looked down below me. Blood coated the ground beneath me, expanded, shivered. Ribs were cracked. Arms broken, tail hung loose and dislocated. I had been thrown against the controls and burned and hadn't even noticed. I engaged the controls with my mind. They did not respond. The whole time, the computer chanted: (Warning. Warning. Warning.)

(Computer, are navigational systems still functional?)

(Intermittent functionality. Long-range scanners are off-line. Short range scanners at 30%.)

(Scan for Andalite life-forms on the planet's surface. Set course for the closest one.)

(Target located. Recalculating course.)

It was a risk. I had no choice. I disengaged from the computer and turned around. I limped into my quarters and retrieved my Shredder. It was difficult with a leg I could barely move. I wanted to die like a warrior. I wanted them to find me strapped to my weapon. When we hit the concrete wall of Earth's mesosphere, I blacked out.

My mind traveled to my past as we completed our journey. I wanted to hate Seerow for handing me over to death so easily. I could see how it made sense. Such a despicable race were men, but always led by reason. Father had reason. Trainer had reason. Seerow had reason. They thought, considered, planned coldly and rationally. They knew what they wanted. They did anything to get it.

Father did not want me. He did everything to purge himself of responsibility for me.

I imagined the funeral he would have for me. Perhaps the one he had already had. An old custom. Ugly, outdated. He would not grant me anything normal. He had not. Strangers and their families would come and bid me farewell and Father would stand back, disassociated, disappointed. No pity or honor. Only custom.

His face was very clean, even with the scar, I remembered. So clean and so difficult to see. How had he blocked me so effectively? Why hadn't I asked that question of the computer?

I thought of that old ship and that terrible grass and those cold, stale buckets of water. I remembered how young I was when I first stepped hoof on it. I remembered the way my face looked. Such an infant. Naïve. Stupid. Defenseless. And Trainer, hand on shoulder, always watching.

I imagined Father. That gruesome scar. It should have made him ugly, but it, perhaps, was the greatest comfort of all. His distinguishing feature. I didn't want to need him anymore. I wanted to forget. I closed my mind as much as I could. I didn't want to feel any of it. I pushed it all deep inside, layers of crushed ice over it. Forget it. Lose it. Disregard it. Be a warrior. Do what you were trained to do.

The rest was blackness.

Then I woke up.

The air tasted strange. Rotting, almost. Sweet, cloying, saturated with life. I was unaccustomed to this smell. I looked above me. Trees. Tall trees with selfish leaves like needles and fans that spread everywhere, maximized surface area to drink in the life of the sun. Insects chirped, amphibians croaked, and yet the night was eerily silent. Silent cacophony. It was an atmosphere designed for many more sounds, much more life. It was an uneasy silence. An impatient silence. Soon it would be day, and then it would be full.

It was a strange place. An uncomfortable place. A crowded place. The place Terenia was from. Not a dust place. Not a glue place.

A life place.

I was on Earth. In what seemed to be a scoop. One that was too small, too unpolished, too cluttered. I looked around. It was night. It was still. I was hurt. My wounds were dressed and cleaned. I found my holster and Shredder. And then I found the boy.

Another male. A selfish, rational male.

He was asleep. His unconscious stalk eye watched me passively.

They had not responded to my quiet desperation, mild entreaty, or distant sympathy. The diplomacy I had designed from my feeble hearts had failed.

Perhaps he would respond to something different.

The pain muted, the atmosphere ignored, I rolled to my hooves and hoisted myself up. I disregarded concern, discomfort. I armed my weapon. He was still asleep when I pressed the Shredder against his _tria _gland.

(State your name and designation,) I ordered.


	49. Chapter Twenty Three: Ax

**A/N: Hey buddies, since it is Thanksgiving, a huge thank-you to all of my readers and reviewers whoever reviewed: Terenia, Taryn Steambattle, Ravyn M, Blueberry the Doom Chicken, Korean Pearl, and a special huge thank-you to the four of you who've stuck through all the way so far: voodooqueen, thanks for always giving me something to think about, metamorphstorm, thanks for being so positive and consistent and removing every reason for me to be self-conscious or self-pitying, Birdie num num, thanks for thinking ahead and making conjectures and giving me the confidence to keep sneaking things in, and Rachel9466, a latecomer, but thanks for being someone whose great feedback is more than welcome.**

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**Chapter Twenty-Three

Aximili

PART ONE OF SIX

I stood in my natural form at the edge of the forest on Cassie's property. Tobias was watching from high in a pine tree a few dozen yards into the forest. The rest of the Animorphs stood before me, generally in a good mood.

It had been two days since we had struck the Yeerk Pool facility. The Animorphs had decided that we deserved a short break. They'd each made an effort to spend time with people the war had made it difficult to stay on good terms with. Prince Jake had visited with his brother and had determined that he had not escaped in the chaos of that fiery night. Rachel had visited with Melissa, daughter of a prominent high-ranking Controller. Marco had spent time with his father, Cassie had volunteered at the Gardens with her mother, and Tobias had visited the free Hork-Bajir.

I had stayed with Jennor. Though Cassie told us a harrowing tale about feeding a mass of swarming penguins, I believed I'd had the worst time.

Now, Marco was trying to outdo her. "So anyway, then my dad grabbed the can opener and played around with it like it was some ninja toy. I don't even know which one he was trying to pretend it was, a nunchuck maybe? It doesn't matter, he sliced his finger open from tip to joint and I had to take him to the hospital! He let me drive, though, so it was cool."

"I'm amazed he survived long enough to make it there," Prince Jake said, rolling his eyes.

"So where's your friend?" Rachel asked, tossing her hair in feigned disinterest after we all shared a hearty laugh.

(Resting,) I answered. That was the simplest way to put it.

(If that's what you call laying catatonic on the futon for over two days,) Tobias said. I looked up through the branches. His form was perched in the direction of the scoop.

(Has she moved?) I asked Tobias privately.

(No, man, still just laying there.)

"What's wrong with her?" Cassie asked.

I was quiet for a moment because I did not know how to answer. Had I hurt her? Was this near coma my fault? I couldn't accept that explanation because, despite the severity of the battle—the fact that she'd almost died and I'd almost failed to save her—the overall valence of my emotions was good. I was happy. I'd held her. And comforted her. And I'd felt a silent warmth wash over me, a happy conclusion swaddling me in certainty and resolution. The gnawing, foolish hope that I'd allowed myself the night she landed had been legitimized. I couldn't help but allow nearly every shred of stress, apprehension, and restlessness to melt away.

But she was still extremely damaged. And it made me feel cruel and selfish to be so fulfilled when she was still clearly in so much pain.

The kiss floated in my memory like a cloud. Some moments it blocked the glaring sun of my unfulfillment and hope. Others, it sat as the single imperfection on the perfectly clear sky of my current mood and temper. I didn't know what to make of it anymore.

(I do not know what's wrong with her,) I finally sighed in response. (She does not eat, and she watches televised small-claims court, reacting like it's the most devastating thing she's ever witnessed.)

The honest summary surprised them. Rachel and Marco scoffed. Prince Jake looked grave. Cassie surprisingly smiled.

"What did you do to her?" She asked, rephrasing the question slightly.

(I...nothing.)

(He kissed her,) Tobias said. The rest of the Animorphs snickered. I glared up at Tobias.

(What? I think it's relevant to the discussion.)

"How is it you fall in love with every Andalite girl that steps within twenty feet of you?" Marco asked.

"Is that the only reason you protected her so long?" Prince Jake asked as the rest of the Animorphs continued to ask inane, insulting questions.

(No, Prince Jake.)

"Oh, great, I'm 'Prince' again now?"

(I do not believe she is currently fit for duty.)

"Oh." He paused for a moment. "Well, I think it's time we meet her anyway. The Yeerks are out of the fight for now, but if she knows anything we can do to cripple them permanently, I think we should—"

(Prince Jake, I believe—)

"Jake," Cassie said with uncharacteristic volume, eyes narrowed, stopping both of us. "It sounds like she's very upset and confused right now, and any questions we ask probably won't provide results we can trust. I think we should let Ax take care of her, and when he feels she's ready, he'll let us know that it's time to meet her. Okay?"

Prince Jake and I both stared at Cassie for a surprised moment. As did Rachel and Marco.

(I forget sometimes Cassie has that in her,) Tobias said privately to me.

(As do I.)

Prince Jake chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Tobias, can you let us know when..."

(Sure,) Tobias said.

"All right. Well, everyone relax until then, I guess."

Tobias and I returned home slowly, still slightly confused. When we got to the scoop, Jennor was not on the futon.

(Where is she?) I demanded.

(Oh, crap, I don't know, I was a little distracted by Cassie standing up to—)

"You have returned," her wavering voice rang out through the clearing. I watched her emerge from the forest, wearing the same blood-stained shirt and underwear I had put on her two days ago. Her hair was wild and untamed, her face red and bloated. A part of me was afraid of her. Her trembling, tear-glistened eyes never left mine. "Where were you?"

(We had a meeting,) Tobias said. (What were you doing up anyway?)

She stared at me, glancing up at Tobias for only a moment. "I had to relieve myself."

(Oh, so you haven't been doing it in the futon, then?) He asked.

"You think me uncivilized," She accused, still staring at me. I shook my head slowly. We stared for a while, until she finally squatted down, digging through dirty piles of my clothes.

(What are you searching for?) I asked.

"My sweatshirt. I'm cold."

(I am afraid you left that underground,) I said. She looked up at me, face crippled into a terrifying sob, a tear tumbling down her flushed cheek.

"Oh."

(I did retrieve your Shredder and holster,) I said, removing them from the medkit and handing them to her. She turned them over in her hands. (I know how important they are to you. I...I'm sorry I dismembered your hand,) I added as a strange afterthought.

"Thank you, Aximili."

She carelessly placed the weaponry back on the medkit. She glanced at me once more, peering almost through me. A small smile came to her eyes for a moment, but then she turned, released another sob, and collapsed on the futon, burying herself in the covers.

Guilt and terror raced through me. I grabbed some money, morphed Northern Harrier, and prepared to take off.

(Now where are you going?) Tobias asked.

(I am going to get her a new sweatshirt.)

I flew to the mall. I landed on the roof, morphed human and broke through the heavily abused utility door, wearing only my morphing outfit. I entered the sports store, walking past large amounts of caution tape and traffic cones at the previous location of the Abercrombie. After purchasing a sweatshirt, I had a little money leftover, so I decided to buy myself a Cinnabon.

I did not eat it there.

I felt a certain amount of responsibility for her and a simultaneous compulsion to return as soon as possible, comfort her, hold her, warm her…I do not know why this feeling was so insistent. She had the blankets. She did not need me. But the compulsion would not relent. I wanted to be with her.

I flew home as quickly as I could, forced to take frequent breaks due to the weight of the items. I landed in the meadow where Jennor and I fed. It took a few moments to catch my breath, as my wings hung limp and sore. I demorphed. Hunger made my hollow legs wobbly and weak. I hadn't eaten at all that day, barely noticing myself. I decided to trot around the field once or twice before delivering the gift to Jennor. When I turned to head to the scoop, Jennor was standing at the edge of the forest, arms crossed over her chest.

(How long were you standing there?) I asked, not feeling much improved.

"You should keep your stalk eyes disengaged from your primary task. The only exception to this is tail-fighting."

She walked over slowly, bare feet leaving prints in the soft, grassless patches of clayed dirt sterilized by shade. I fidgeted nervously, breathing deep, unsatisfying breaths of fragrant, thick Earth air.

She stood about a foot in front of me and below me. Her chin tilted upward, and she gazed up into my eyes with a look of curiosity and vulnerability I'd never seen before. Her eyes appeared strange to my Andalite senses, sort of hollow and soulless. They gave off too much heat. I could see too deeply into them, and not deeply enough at all.

"You left again," she whispered.

(I got you something,) I corrected, removing the sweatshirt from the bag and handing it to her. Her reaction was strange. She took it and slowly ran her fingers over it, almost like she wasn't sure what it was. She held each shoulder and unfurled it, laughing or crying or some combination of the two.

(What happened to you?)

She tucked the sweatshirt under her arm and smiled up at me, showing her teeth. It unsettled me until I realized that was the first time I'd seen them. They were not perfectly straight or perfectly white, and teeth generally seem like grotesque deformities to unaccustomed Andalites, but for some reason the sight of them was the prettiest thing I'd seen in weeks.

She continued to smile, and after time it settled into something natural and distinct. She took my hand, human skin blazing, and gave it a tug down, indicating that I should kneel. I obeyed, though I had no idea what she was planning.

She was still smiling. It was not a normal smile, the ephemeral kind that appears and vanishes in seconds. It seemed permanent, etched to her cheeks. A new acquisition she was not going to surrender easily. "I haven't been acting reasonably these past few days."

(Don't apologize. You've gone through a traumatic experience. It is normal to assume you'd need some time to come to terms with it. Now that you're better, the—)

"I didn't say I was better." She leaned into me and pressed her strong, rubbery hand against my chest. There was a nice surge of surprise and vertigo as she slid the other arm behind my shoulder, cupping her fingers around the base of my skull. For a moment, she paused, eyes inches from mine, lips parted, breath hot and sweet in my nostrils. Then, inexplicably, she pressed her mouth against my chin, right beneath my nostrils, where my human lips would normally appear.

It was a strange sensation, similar to the feeling of some slimy and unexpected food item, like yogurt or seafood, traveling down my throat. I kept my eyes open in surprise as she moved closer, wound her fingers in the short hairs in my chest, hooked her elbow around the back of my neck.

I was utterly confounded.

I had kissed her in human form, yes, as ambiguously moral as that was. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Under normal circumstances, it is reprehensible to enjoy the reproductive pleasures of any extra-species morph, but that had not seemed like a normal circumstance. It seemed forgivable, as the kiss with Estrid had been, because of the nature of the delivery. With Estrid, it was an act of scientific discovery. And with Jennor…Comfort. I'd meant to bestow comfort.

But this was affection. Attraction. Primal instinct.

This was foreplay.

Jennor continued to kiss me, moving her strong human hand down my chest, closer to the sensitive zone between my front legs.

I didn't know what to do. It would be wrong to concede to her, but I feared what would happen if I refused her. She was clearly not mentally stable. And besides, she was my Prince, well, not currently, but she was the ranking Andalite on the planet, and thus the fundamental upholder of virtue and law. And she'd initiated it. She'd chosen…

She grabbed a hold of the knotted flesh between my legs. I let out a sigh as spikes of pleasure shot through me. There was no innate attraction for her like this, but her hand was strong and the stimulation was effective.

(Morph, Aximili,) she whispered hurriedly in my mind.

I almost pulled away from her. Law and custom almost compelled me to refuse her. I almost summoned the clarity of thought to ask her why she was doing this, why she was commencing our relationship in this manner, why she was so eager to turn her back on any lingering subscription to our native race. I wanted _her_ to demorph. I wanted to pull her close with my delicate hands and stroke the line in her back as she breathed into my chest. I wanted those sharp green eyes both centimeters from and tangled within mine, her delicate fingers against my cheek. She should have wanted the same. Why would she decline all of that in favor of this lesser, primitive, morally repugnant form?

She opened her mouth a little and pressed the tip of her tongue to the edge of my middle nostril. Her fingers had a rough purchase of fur and oversensitized nerves that she squeezed gently, stimulatingly. Fog clouded my head, but a clear, high-contrast picture emerged through it: my human lips the target of her tongue rather than my Andalite nostrils. The corners of my mouth curling into a smile as she made contact. Reciprocation. The mouth was an enviable tool that I had the capacity to use whenever I pleased.

The components of my articulate cross-examination dissolved. Every law and taboo in my mind became insignificant, alien, a joke. The girl I loved was in front of me and just happened to want to do things in a slightly unconventional manner. The question of why still lingered, but the decision was made.

I'd have her whichever way she wanted.


	50. Chapter Twenty Three: Part Two

PART TWO OF SIX

I began to morph.

She broke away when the widening, dissolving line appeared in my face. She caught her breath and smiled again.

Sensitive, specific changes occurred first, happily from need. My face changed—sight, smell, taste became human. The rest of me remained Andalite for a while, but then my tail and hind legs withered and disappeared, leaving me off-balance. I tried to stop myself, but I tumbled forward, falling on top of her, crushing her against the meadow floor, facing her at an angle so her legs sprawled off to the side. She grunted, air forced from her lungs, but then she laughed, a strange, new sound, high and vibrant and sincere, and I did too, though it came out garbled and drowned through my half-developed throat.

She waited now as I finished, arms splayed above her, tangled in her hair, still smiling as much of my weight disappeared. I usually know when I'm done morphing when those conflicting human sensibilities kick in. Fear and confidence, certainty and confusion all tied together. But now, the certainty and confidence were absolute. There was a human instinct at work that I'd only felt a whisper of before, a unique urge that stood out among the bland drives that had been repressed and tamed by thousands of years of socialization, an urge even more powerful than the drive to eat. I smelled a natural, pungent, attractive scent curling off of her. The texture of her skin wasn't hard and unwelcome, it was soft and complementary, a warm material whose sole purpose was to be touched, caressed, explored. I felt something immediate and intimate growing within me, something that yearned to be fulfilled.

I waited no more and dove down to kiss her again. Our lips moved slowly at first: formal, experimenting, acquainting. We were cautious, but it didn't take long for the overwhelming human instinct to incite us further. I opened my mouth over hers, indulging in my fantasy, pressing my tongue to her lips, outlining the soft flesh slowly, feeling her stuttered, surprised gasp warm my lips. I dove deeper, pushing inside that fluid, wonderful cavity, tasting and touching every corner I could reach. She permitted me, pushing back with equal force, awakening sensations that could be directly inspired by little else. We accelerated, greedy and unpracticed, sloppy and arrhythmic. I pushed too deeply, brushing up against the back of her throat, and she gagged mildly and giggled. Despite that, our mouths continued to roll together, uncontrolled moans and whimpers erupted from within her throat, the roaring tide continued to pull us under. I could feel her chest heaving beneath mine, could feel her hand clutch the nape of my neck when I did something she seemed to enjoy. I drove my arms around her, gripping the skin on her waist and hips on the way to rubbing the middle of her back. Her arms crawled up over my back, peeling away the elastic shit to reveal goosebumped skin.

We continued either for seconds or hours, time lost its meaning, the grass beneath us was smooth silk, my heart thudded in every joint and intersection of my primitive, seething body, pumping magma in narrow, throbbing arteries, filling me, spreading viscous heat from some source deep within my pelvis, up my spine, to my fingertips, to the back of my throat, until it was too much to bear, until something significant changed.

It took every ounce of willpower, because I was charging ahead with momentum too powerful to simply reverse. But I tore my lips away and looked down, first at myself, then back at her. She opened her eyes, followed my gaze. "This human anatomy is quite responsive," she breathed with half a grin. Her hand moved towards it slowly but resolutely. I swatted it away. Disbelief, disorientation, indignation. "What's the matter?"

"I can't," I whispered, scrambling off of her, lying face-down in the grass. I shut my eyes hard, I tried to catch my breath and draw all focus away from it, but it was impossible, currently my only purpose for being, my only motivation. I feared her then, more than anything, feared she'd grow impatient and flip me over and beckon me to continue, and I would choicelessly concede.

But instead, she propped herself up on her elbows and huffed. She sat up, grabbed the sweatshirt, and yanked off the tag with too much force. She crawled through the sleeves and pulled the drawstrings tight, crossing her arms, limiting any lingering sensations and temptations from affecting either of us.

"You don't understand," I said.

"I understand perfectly," she spat back.

"No," I gasped, shutting my eyes again, trying to channel the raging power out through them. "Not like this. Not so fast. You're not ready, I'm not—"

"Shut up, Aximili," she snapped.

The feeling ebbed slowly, pounding and scratching and clawing every moment I refused it. It took far too long, but then I rolled to my back and looked at her.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't want to hurt you."

She sighed, uncrossed her arms, and rolled on top off me, lying slightly off to the side. "Don't you know how badly you have already hurt me?" she asked with a strange, clenched smile. Her hands rested on my chest, but began to grip my collar. "All you've done is hurt me. You pulled me from that wreckage, you disobeyed my orders, you got yourself infested. All of those things caused me incredible inconvenience. Then you cut off my hand, you dragged me back to life, you forced me out of my cold, comfortable coma, the only thing that made this war bearable. You ripped me apart and then worried why it took so long for me to get back together. I should be dead, I should feel nothing, but no. I hurt, Aximili, I'm confused and terrified and in lots of pain. I was nearly dead, and then everything I'd managed to subdue came back like a tidal wave. I had to relive every injury, feel everything in the weakened echo of memory, all of them, every time I got hit or sliced or shot or burned or stabbed. And the other times, the times in between battles, the times that were even worse. You made me relive it all, you bastard. You've put me through a two-day hell."

Another pulse of warmth barrelled through me. I didn't know why her speech affected me that way. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"No, you're not," she laughed. She inhaled deeply, pressing her cold hand against my face. "I'm not, either. But if you'd like to make it up to me, you could at least make me feel good as well."

I pulled her hand away and interlaced our fingers. "You are cold," I said, pressing my sensitive lips against her chilled hand. The smile dropped off her face and she laid her hooded head against my chest.

"You don't know anything about me," she whispered. She turned her face back towards mine, staring for a few moments before continuing. "I want to know you. Perhaps that will make us 'ready.' How long have you been on Earth, Aximili?"

"Almost two and a half years."

"And you were all alone until I landed?"

"I had the humans." Her eyes narrowed. I glanced away. "There were other visitors. I don't want to talk about it."

(Then think about it,) she said.

(I...) I responded, wondering how much I should tell her. (Some Andalite scientists came to decimate the Yeerk population on Earth. That may have also killed the humans. They left when their plan failed.)

(They did not leave,) she said, putting her hand over my heart. (How old are you?)

(Three cycles and nine months.)

She scoffed. (I thought you were younger than me.)

(How old are you?)

(I'll be three cycles in seven months.)

I sat up a little. (How are you a warrior?)

(It's a long story.)

(I'd like to hear it.)

She scoffed in a sad, mirthless way. She turned her face through my chest, looking up at me. Her lips were pursed tightly, eyes squinting and flooded. (I could tell you,) she whispered in liquid, honest form Beta. (I could tell you everything. I could confess all of my secrets. I could integrate our lives so they'd be impossible to tear apart. It is a difficult story, a heavy burden, something you will not be able to return once it is delivered. Is that what you want, Aximili? Are you prepared to accept that?)

I hesitated for a moment. Part of me knew the gravity of the gift she was offering. But I knew my answer. I released her hand and wrapped my arms around her. (Yes, Jennor. It is what I want.)

So she began. She thought in waves of Form Beta that became so free from structure and form that it was like they were simply flowing into me. She began in the middle, retreating to the beginning and skipping to the end when some tenuous logical strand dragged her there. She spoke, but without words, she seemed to sing the pain and events into some impressionistic, beautiful song, and I understood perfectly without needing language. She sang every event—the kidnapping she'd been unwilling to label as such, the unsubstantiated hope of reuniting with her father, the trust she'd come to feel for Terenia too late—and she slowed during the hard parts, the parts she could not express in song, the parts so difficult to accept that she slipped into form Alpha, dropping hard and painful euphemisms like "Unprincely" and "Misuse" into her story. I winced for her. I gripped her tightly at these parts, but she pulled away into herself when I tried.

I responded at certain parts, the parts when she slowed or paused, the parts that made it difficult to continue. I offered my own stories, spoke of my own pain. I couldn't sing like she did, but I spoke so quickly that the truths emerged, foreign even to myself. I spoke of deep layer of underlying resentment for Elfangor. I admired him, I cared for him deeply, but I was disgusted by what he did on Earth. Thrilled that he'd found happiness, even for such a short time, but how could I forgive such deep treason? I spoke of the horrible ambivalence I felt for Tobias—his existence was an abomination, but he had become my greatest friend, my _shorm_, my most trusted confidant. I hated my father's obvious pride and favor for my brother, hated that he reinforced my resentment. And my mother, weak and informidable and, in some respects, my only familial ally. Jennor listened and responded, and soon our pasts and pain became like a duet, a horrible, congealed, inseparable duet, and hours passed, and it was night by the time we slowed long enough to realize.

Tears had pooled in my eye sockets, but it didn't matter. I loosened her hood and stroked the curls of her hair for a while, clearing away dead strands. She rested her sharp little chin on my chest and ran her fingertips over the lines in one of my palms. We didn't speak, we just lay there, remembering, absorbing. Integrating. Neither of us had to say it, but we were both miserable, disgusted, angry, and in love.

Misty light broke the clouded horizon and Jennor rubbed the crusty, stale tears from her eyes. "A new day," she said, crawling off of me, sitting with her bare legs extended, stretching her toes straight and then up.

"A good morning bodes poorly for the day," I said, rolling over and touching the top of her thigh.

"What?"

"A good…You've never heard that before?" I asked. She shook her head. "Is your first memory good or bad?"

"Do you mean the first thing I can remember, or—"

"Your birth, Jennor, was it good or bad?"

"My birth?"

"You don't remember your birth?"

"Should I?"

I was on my stomach, looking up at her. She broke eye contact when she noticed the seriousness in my eyes.

"Yes, you should. All Andalites remember their birth. Don't you know the rhymes, the fairy tales? 'First good, trouble breeds. First bad, one succeeds.' There are many variations...you've never heard them?"

"It sounds like blind superstition."

"It is, but…why don't you remember your birth?"

She gazed down at me for a second, mouth tightening to a pursed frown. "What was yours like?" She asked. I knew she was just deflecting my concern, but I decided to humor her.

"Mine was troubled. Of course, most people try to view their own births that way, so they can hope for success and prosperity. I remember…just a bittersweet feeling. Elfangor was still missing. He did not even visit home until I was over a cycle old. I was not enough for my father. He wanted his first son back more than he wanted me."

"And your mother?"

"If my father was the bitter, she was the sweet."

She placed her hand over mine, resting on her thigh. "I never knew my mother."

"You should remember her. Everyone remembers their birth."

"I do not."

"What do you remember?"

"Sunset. Feeling cold, ripped open, incomplete. An old man stood just outside, wiping his face, watching the suns...the Elder sun was the first to dip, as always, and just after it did, he turned a stalk eye and smiled. And I knew that was all I would ever want. Just that smile."

Her eyes reflected a distant happiness, and I allowed her to revel in it for a while. Then I squeezed her thigh, and she smiled, retreating to my chest.

"I still want it," she breathed, "and I always will, but I suppose you are an acceptable alternative." I felt warmth burst in my chest as she wrapped her arms tightly around me and sighed in contentment.

She trusted me now. It was strange, but I could feel the difference. I could sense the new ease she felt in my presence. Her body was not a cold, mechanical thing; it was alive, broken, flawed, responsive to my touch. I could influence her. Suggestions I made were not immediately contradicted, nor did she make some compensatory order just to assert her power. Not that I would have responded to it, anyway. I had not been very good about following her orders.

It began raining later that morning. I suggested we return to the scoop.

"Okay," she said. I got up and pulled her to her feet. The rain made her smell acidic, but I felt no aversion to her. For a moment I stood with my hands on the sides of her shoulders, solidifying my reality. I grabbed the stale Cinnabon and walked with my fingers around the soft heel of her hand.

When we returned, Cassie and Rachel were standing in the scoop. Tobias was in human morph.

"What are they doing here?" I demanded. Jennor glanced at me. "Heer-ugh," I added as an afterthought.

"Tobias said she was better," Cassie said slowly. "We just wanted—"

What happened next was very fast.


	51. Chapter Twenty Three: Part Three

PART THREE OF SIX

A blur of golden blonde, and Jennor was torn from my grasp.

"Threaten us mere humans again! Shoot at a defenseless bird in a tree now!"

Rachel assaulted Jennor, sending both of them careening over the futon. I heard both of them screaming in short bursts, grunting, shrieking. Tobias and I both scrambled around the cluttered furniture, but once they were fully in view, we paused. Jennor had ample handfuls of Rachel's long, shining hair in her fists, and Rachel's hands were around Jennor's neck, clawing at her chest.

(Release me!) Jennor cried, cackling tufts of air through her mouth.

"For what you did, never!"

"Don't just stand there, do something!" Cassie said, grabbing Rachel's shoulders and pulling her up right as Jennor's fist connected with Rachel's jaw. Cassie's hold was precarious and she tumbled back from the percussive shock.

Tobias and I continued to stare.

"Perhaps it is best just to let them finish," I suggested. Jennor had managed to secure the top position, naked legs sprawled over Rachel, who was getting wet and stained with mud. "No, we should stop them," Tobias said in a strange monotone, standing still, stroking his chin.

Jennor grappled Rachel's wrists, holding them away from her body. Rachel's teeth were bared and she continued to struggle, somewhat futilely. They both caught their breaths.

(I apologize for shooting at Tobias,) Jennor said slowly as the animalistic fury in Rachel's clear blue eyes flowed. (I underestimated you humans. I am glad I missed.)

Rachel's lips pursed over her teeth and she relaxed her arms, opening her hands in surrender. Jennor let go, climbing slowly off of Rachel as I grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away. Tobias was close behind, pulling Rachel to her feet.

"Boys," Cassie sighed as she wiped the mud from Rachel's face.

"Are you all right?" I asked Jennor.

(I don't know,) she coughed as she rubbed her throat. (I am no longer worried about the effectiveness the humans have had against the Yeerks.)

"She didn't shoot at me because I was _human_, she had just woken up from the crash and she was just...I don't know, paranoid. I didn't explain this right, I should have been more detailed," Tobias was stammering as he continued to rub the mud from Rachel's face, wringing clumps of it from her hair.

"So what, she gets to shoot first and ask questions later?" Rachel said, gesturing accusingly at Jennor.

"That certainly sounds like a familiar philosophy," Cassie grumbled as she walked over to Jennor. "Ax and Tobias have been doing their laundry at my house. Just make sure that finds its way into the next load." Jennor pulled off the sweatshirt and looked at the back.

"Oh," she sighed, scratching away the thick clumps of mud with her fingertips.

"That, too," Cassie said, eyeing the blood-stained undershirt.

"Doesn't she have pants, Ax?" Rachel asked, shooing Tobias away from her face.

"They're in the Yeerk Pool," I answered, leaning against the back of the futon, checking Jennor's neck for signs of bruising.

The look of fury on Rachel's face changed suddenly. "What about these?" She said, picking up the jeans Jennor had looted from the dressing room.

Jennor watched Rachel carefully, like she was a feline ready to pounce. She glanced for my reaction, but I was just as blindsided.

"They're too small," Jennor replied.

"Yeah, you're a little bigger than me. A little bustier, too. Well, don't look so upset about it! You got a bra or anything?"

"My tae kwon do instructor required me to utilize this," Jennor replied, pulling up some unidentifiable piece of artificial skin.

"Ugh, that won't do at all. Not one bit. Okay, so these are sixes, which means you're an eight or a ten, I'd guess. Ax, you got any more money?"

"I really don't believe this is necessary, I have ample human clothing here, like these!" Jennor said, pulling up a pair of my dirty boxer shorts. Impatience was growing in Rachel's eyes, humor in Cassie's.

"Don't be worried, Rachel's got a project in mind now," Cassie said, patting Jennor on the shoulder as Rachel continued to dig through piles of my things for cash. "I don't think she'll try to kill you again, at least not until you're dressed better."

"Everything's _fine_ now, Cassie, keep up. Seriously, Ax, where's that $40 that Jake gave you?"

"I bought the sweatshirt," I mumbled.

"Well, I can't spend my money on her!" Rachel crossed her arms and flopped on the futon, huffing. "I was just beginning to like her, too," she mumbled to herself. I rubbed the back of my neck in stress. Jennor was watching me with eyes that revealed defeat.

"I have money," she whispered. She retreated to her medkit and dug to the bottom, pulling out wads of twenties.

"Where did you get all that?" Tobias asked.

"I stole it," she said bluntly.

I laughed a little, but the other humans seemed shocked.

"That's really bad," Cassie said. "Don't do that anymore."

"Well, who would we return this to anyway? She needs clothes, she has money. This is America, after all." Rachel said. She got up, grabbing the crumpled, dirty paper and counting it. "I just need to go home and change." Jennor opened her mouth to protest. "Don't even try, you're coming with. I can lend you some of my sister's clothes so you don't look like an escaped loony bin patient when we get to the mall. They're probably looking for you, anyway, and we don't want to draw attention to ourselves. Tobias, can you keep these clothes here until later?" Rachel began removing the mud-covered garments and handing them to Tobias.

"Wait, Rachel, Jake said that we should—"

"Jake and Marco decided to have a Playstation orgy today and are not answering the phone," Rachel said. "We called them to meet us here, remember?"

"But he said—" Tobias interrupted.

"We won't be long," Rachel said, sheathed in skin-tight clothes, ready to morph. "I have a whole look already in mind. This should give us a start, anyway." She pulled a hair-tie off her wrist and wrapped it around the money she had organized and wound together. "Don't drop this," she said, handing it back to Jennor. "Now, are we ready?"

Cassie had already begun to morph to osprey, and Jennor was looking between me and Rachel. "You are coming," Jennor asked me, though it sounded like more of an order.

"No, boys always ruin shopping experiences. Ax still doesn't understand the concept of clothing, let alone style. Better if he stays back so we can surprise him." Rachel grabbed Jennor's shoulders and began dragging her away.

(You will be fine,) I assured her. (They are trustworthy.)

Jennor delivered one more desperate glance before removing her clothes and demorphing.

(Soooo you'll need some skin-tight stuff too, then,) Rachel said. (A small hiccup, no worries. Just follow me, all right?)

Jennor quickly morphed Goshawk. Tobias and I watched as the three girls took off, Jennor trailing considerably behind.

"You know they're only doing this so they can drill her," Tobias sighed.

"Drill means interrogate?" I asked. Tobias nodded.

"And you just handed her over like that?" He asked.

"They won't hurt her."

"Yeah, I guess not."

"Will they?" I turned to Tobias, who was smiling strangely, distantly.

"Not permanently."

I sighed. "You told them to come here," I surmised.

"Yeah."

"How did you know she was better?"

"I think you forget about that red-tail hawk super-vision thing occasionally," Tobias said. "Besides, while you were off shopping, Jennor and I had a little chat."

"Oh?"

"She was waiting for you to come back, sitting up and alert and everything. She looked kind of distant, so I asked if anything was wrong. She told me that she was glad I lived here. Even though I blew her cover and told Rachel she tried to kill me and everything, she said that she was glad I was here with you."

I smiled. "Rachel was very patient to wait so long to avenge you," I said.

"Wasn't she, though?"

I looked at Tobias and suddenly realized something. I walked over to Jennor's medical kit and opened the latch. It was a breach of new-found, fragile trust, yes, but I didn't know when I'd get another opportunity for access to her medical kit without her presence.

"Tobias, there's something I need to—"

"If you're going to show me the Aldrea's Cube, it's too late," he sighed. "I know."

I glanced back at him in shock. "She..."

"Yes, she did."

"That is unexpected."

"Yes, it was."

I closed the latch. "You haven't told anyone yet."

"I don't know if I'm going to."

"That is probably wise," I said. "I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"No, you were doing what you were supposed to be doing. And so was she. I'm kind of surprised she broke the law for me. They seem so important to her, laws."

"She is different than she was," I said.

"Yeah. It's kind of jarring. One minute she's holding a gun to your head, demanding your name and designation, the next she's making out with you on the forest floor."

"I apologize. We will be more private in the future."

"So you think there's a future in this?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Ax, I think you should take a step back for a second. Survey what's happening. Inexplicably and suddenly, she decides she's in love with you?"

"It was sudden, but not inexplicable."

"Care to explain it?"

I thought about that for a moment. I remembered that look of defeat that came upon her eyes moments before her death, that moment of utter disclosure. There was something behind the defeat, something she considered weak. Something sheathed and shielded, but ever present. It was not new. Perhaps it had not been sudden at all.

"No," I said. "I am content, Tobias."

"Yeah," he said, relinquishing the argument. He patted me on the shoulder. "I guess you kinda are."

It took them hours. Rachel had a variable concept of what "not long" was, to Tobias' amusement. I was restless. I picked at my stale Cinnabon, though I had planned to share it with Jennor. There was still so much I wanted to show her, and now she was getting drilled by Cassie and Rachel. I envied them, for some unclear reason. I became hungry again, and decided to save the rest of the Cinnabon for her. I demorphed and fed in the meadow.

Shortly before they returned, Prince Jake and Marco came to the scoop. I was annoyed by the sudden and uncharacteristic influx of visitors.

"Marco left the phone off the hook after prank calling Cynthia Wexxon," Prince Jake reported.

"It's not my fault her bark is equally as vicious as her bite," Marco replied. "I just wanted to know if her refrigerator was running."

"Come on, Marco, you could have come up with something better than that," Tobias said.

"Well, I wanted to say 'I think you're beautiful please don't kill me,' but apparently you're the only one that works for."

"Not anymore," Tobias said, winking at me.

"Where is the action girl, anyway?" Prince Jake asked. "Marco and I have been theorizing every possible way this could go badly and I am desperate to be proved wrong."

"Rachel and Cassie took her shopping," Tobias said. "I wouldn't worry about her. Rachel is keeping her in line."

"How so?" Marco asked. "Did I miss something...important?"

"You've been rather quiet," Prince Jake said. "And...that's not a cold Cinnabon, is it?" He asked, picking up the half-empty box.

(I am...impatient, Prince Jake.)

"Was my leadership really that dismissible?" I whipped a stalk eye around and spotted Jennor, grappling multiple large bags, emerge from behind a tree. Rachel and Cassie appeared right behind her.

(You're back,) I gasped, rushing over to her, batting the bags aside and embracing her, flooded with relief. She allowed me, but did not drop the bags and seemed to glance behind me in embarrassment. I ignored the fact that we were causing something of a scene and brushed her human cheek with my hand. Only then did I realize my fear that something terrible would happen to her, returning to the mouth of the beast we'd only narrowly escaped.

"Yeah, we had to run through a couple dozen Hork-Bajir and Visser Three himself to get back," Rachel said, brushing hair out of her eyes. Jennor began to demorph.

The four of us all yelled variants of "What?" "Really?" "How?" before Cassie started laughing.

"It was actually kind of amazing. I didn't think we could even enter the mall without killing something." The joke was too dark and fell flat, but Jennor used the awkward moment to look around the group, surveying each human for a strange, deep moment before moving on. We made eye contact and she looked down, an expression of shame on her face. I had a sudden, strange feeling of foreboding but did not let it distract me from my relief.

(Are you going to introduce me to your comrades, _aristh_?) She asked, standing straight, glancing at me with a stalk eye.


	52. Chapter Twenty Three: Part Four

PART FOUR OF SIX

It was clear that Jennor was nervous. It was also clear that the Animorphs had not planned on making a friendly introduction. For the first few minutes, I was afraid I would have to reclaim the awkward position of peace-making diplomat between one of my people and the humans.

But it didn't really happen.

Jennor accepted that keeping herself secret from the humans was a mistake. She explained that she had read terrible things about them in her studies, had prejudged them unfairly. She deflected outlandish accusations and accepted reasonable ones. Jake and Marco seemed to be doing most of the accusing. Either Jennor had won over Cassie and Rachel, or everything they'd gone over at the mall was being rehashed. Tobias seemed surprisingly apathetic.

The unsettling thing was that she seemed to know exactly how to respond to each individual. For Marco, she recognized the sarcastic tone in his statements, responding in kind, understanding the humor more quickly and completely than I had. For Cassie, she expressed sympathy and regret, for Rachel, an urge to amend her mistakes through bloodshed. For Prince Jake, she was respectful, accurate, to the point. She did not treat him with the degree of deference that I did, but she bowed slightly when finishing a response. She actually seemed to fit in quite well.

"Though we would have liked to collaborate, we don't boss people around, we never wanted to make you an Animorph or anything, if that's what you were afraid of. I mean, I know Ax makes it seems like I'm this big dictator, but I'm not. And yeah, your position here, without friends or a ship or way off this planet is a little different than what we're used to dealing with, but I don't like ordering anyone to do anything. We just wanted to...know." Jake explained. Jennor stood at straight attention, arms tucked behind her back. She nodded thoughtfully.

(You are a better prince than I,) Jennor said. (You treat him well. I relinquish him as my _aristh_.)

"Oh, Jesus," he moaned.

"She does have a gun, though," Marco said. "You forgot about the gun, Jake. Can I play with the gun?"

(No,) Jennor responded.

"Why not? I'm good at guns!"

(_No_,) Jennor repeated. The Animorphs all laughed, but there was a moment of fearful urgency in Jennor's eyes. She caught my gaze and relaxed.

The rest of the conversation was serious in content but rather light in tone. Jake and Rachel questioned Jennor's knowledge of Yeerk protocol after an event of that kind of magnitude. I offered my own expertise on the matter, slightly offended that they assumed she'd know more than me. She didn't know much. The scope of her knowledge seemed limited to personal combat and some weaponry, but not advanced tactics. We discussed different plans, between finding some subterranean morph to collapse the entire cavern now that its structural integrity was greatly compromised by the blasts, to finding both Controllers who were on the verge of Kandrona starvation and hosts we'd already released to organize into a convincing public relations group. Each plan made perfect sense. Each plan had merit, and would undoubtedly advance our position in the war.

But she stood elegant, and straight, and lovely, and kept watching me with a glittering, lively stalk eye. I could focus on little else.

"Maybe one of us should go down there, see what the damage is currently like. Any volunteers?"

"I'll do it," Rachel said.

(I have holographic emitters that should protect you against the Gleet BioFilters, if there are any left,) Jennor offered.

"And you've had these...how long?" Marco asked.

(Long enough to ensure they work for you,) she responded. (Would you care to try one with your yellow friend?)

"Don't call me yellow," Rachel growled.

"All right, yeah, Marco and Rachel." Prince Jake said after a yawn. "And um, now would be a good time to let us know about any other technological marvels that might help us out."

(You're not getting the Shredder,) she said. The Animorphs laughed.

They began leaking out shortly after that. It was a "school night," after all, and human parents tended to worry. Rachel stayed behind for a while with Tobias, requesting their own privacy.

Jennor packed things within her medical kit and took it from its position in my scoop.

(They would never steal it,) I said. (I thought you understood their attempts at humor.)

(I know,) she replied. (I just...don't want to stare at it everyday. It's too obvious here.)

(We'll hide it,) I offered. (We'll bury it.)

(Thank you for understanding,) she said with a forlorn smile.

We trotted about a mile away, finding a small open corner of the forest, punctuated by a large boulder. We knelt side by side, flanks touching. I helped her dig a hole with my hands, though she snatched her hand away suddenly when I brushed against her arm.

(The Earth is cold,) I said.

We finished, and Jennor got up, walking deep within the woods.

I followed her, shivering in anticipation.

(Was that so terrible?) I asked, walking beside her. I held a tentative hand over the intersection of her hithers and torso. A nervous hand. This was the first time I would engage romantically with an Andalite female, and without any expertise or prior experience I felt knots coil in my shoulders. Her tail blade twiched.

(No.) She folded her arms and pulled away. I was both relieved and annoyed.

(You are upset,) I guessed.

She turned a stalk eye toward me. (No.)

(Then what—)

(I…we could…I want to show you what your friends bought me today,) she said, turning in the direction of our scoop. She began to morph as she walked, and I grabbed her by the shoulder before she got too far.

(What?) She demanded as her face melted and broadened, as her scalp sprouted long curls that trailed down her cheeks.

(You are eager to get back to the scoop,) I noted. (Why do you avoid me?)

(I'm not avoiding you,) she said as her mouth finished forming. "I'm waiting for you."

Her human form was sheathed in the same underwear as before and a tight, narrow-sleeved piece of artificial clothing. I was getting more annoyed and a little insulted, as if she deliberately preferred my human form because my Andalite form was insufficient somehow, unattractive or weak perhaps. Yet it was the form I felt comfortable in, the form that had fallen in love with her.

_You're being selfish_, I reasoned. _She is probably uncomfortable with Andalite intimacy because of her past._

_But she is comfortable enough engaging in the abominable desecration of an alien form._ I did not understand her motivation. I did not want to hurt her, but I did not want to needlessly dishonor my Andalite heritage, either. If I could perhaps understand what drove this disagreeable ambition, what she thought she was gaining, or perhaps avoiding…did I have the right to be suspicious of this behavior? Was it indicative of some deeper flaw? Was bestiality a more acceptable alternative than something even worse?

I noticed that she had put her strong human hand over mine, and entangled it beneath the strap of her shirt, down to one of her strange, bulbous breasts. Her grip was loose, and I could have pulled away if I wanted, but I didn't. I did not know why I was touching her. I felt no stimulation from this, and I could not imagine that I provided her any. I supposed I was curious. I squeezed, testing it, a strange consistency, an organic elasticity, but just another random, alien human trait. I looked down into her dark human eyes, and they were smiling. My tentative consentience was making her happy.

(What do you really want, Jennor?) I said, awkwardly removing my hand. (What are you really doing?)

"Just you, Aximili," she whispered.

There was a moment of perfect balance between my mounting suspicion and deep affection for her. Each was a deep gravitational well that would compel me with accelerating certainty, but for now the forces were equal, pointed in opposite directions. For a moment, I hung in absolute indecision. I had the choice. Whatever direction I chose would be impossible to retreat from and would envelop me entirely. I could distrust and accuse her, maintaining allegiance to my race. Or, I could ignore abstract qualities like dignity and loyalty and accept her without reservation or stipulation. It was a difficult decision. Each choice had advantages, each had losses. I could not determine how either would turn out.

I breathed deeply and began the morph to human.

Before long, we returned to the grassbed we had flattened the previous night, with greater comfort, more defined mutual goals, greater ambition. Both of us were trembling with a nervous anticipation and hesitant trust, but it did not take long to shed that. I lost all concern, pressed her into the ground, and washed into her. She assured me she was ready that night. I did not argue. She pulled off her shirt, I shimmied out of my morphing clothing. I stared only into her eyes, scared and excited and trusting, as we prepared, groping, swirling, and kissing. The change happened again, all the focus in my mind centralized on that vortex between my legs, and just as I was sure I would burst if we did not advance to the next stage, I pulled away from her.

"For Elder's _sake_, Aximili, what is it now?" she hissed, blinking back to the surface.

"I…Where is this supposed to go?" I asked her.

It took some time to figure out the mechanics, the rhythm, and most effective preparation methods, but before long Jennor and I became relatively adept at human mating. Before much longer, that was how we spent much of our time.

Any time not spent together was normally spent planning with the Animorphs, or engaging in additional missions of sabotage in the Yeerk pool. My once disciplined lifestyle quickly became sloth and sloppy. Her taste became as familiar to me as my favorite human foods, and as widely differentiated. Our minds were open, our hearts were full, and though we were both warriors by trade, we were spawned from a race in love with scientific discovery. We were not shy in this regard. We were mutually curious and eager to learn. It did not hurt that without obligation or responsibility, we were made of nothing but time. It also did not hurt that I loved her.

I wished I could tell her how important it was to me that we did this correctly, I wished I could kiss her like an Andalite and initiate the long process of the bonding ritual, but I suppressed these wishes. The struggle was complete. I'd achieved the things I wanted, I felt the unusual warmth and blindness of happiness warp my perspective. I rarely looked past her when we were alone. I wanted to understand every corner, every curve. I delved greedily. Her cooperation and reciprocation were limitless.

Of course, my desire was not limited to the human form. It was a magnetic, stubborn, sensitive piece of equipment that was never satisfied, and therefore it became restless. Whenever we finished, I would promise myself that the next time, I would refuse to continue unless it was in our native Andalite bodies. I could never keep that self-imposed promise very long, especially as Jennor gained more skill at the variously artful acts.

I'd have grown angry about it if not for the fact that our courtship was progressing on more than a sexual level. We'd exchanged vast amounts of information on that first night, but a person is not comprised simply of their experiences and memories. I learned about Jennor's somewhat romantic taste in television, the fact that she was an early riser, that she preferred feeding in marshy grass that received afternoon sun. She learned that my political opinions leaned conservative, though I invited spirited debate with a consenting, intellectual equal, that my favorite type of Andalite music was from the _post-terraforma_ era, that I preferred playing defensive positions in driftball. Our trust and fondness grew, and though Jennor still felt the need to cry in my arms sometimes, both the frequency and length of time she cried decreased quickly. Slowly, but steadily, she was getting better.

Our days grew lazy and comfortable. I introduced her to human food, finally feeding her the stale, old Cinnabon days later. She'd spit it out, overcome with the intensity and satisfaction of the additional human sense, but she'd grown used to it fast. I took her to the grocery store, the mall, McDonalds, using the leftover reserves of her cash to feed our sloth and hunger. She grew fond of pizza, Oreos, and peanut butter. She loved peanut butter. She'd unseal the cookies, spread it in the middle, and eat them whole, chasing them with milk that we kept cold with a daily trip to the local gas station to for bagged ice. She did not attend combat lessons anymore. She no longer needed the money for anything.

We also bought alcohol. This was new to both of us. Her curiosity about why a human would refuse to sell it to me solely because of my age instigated the purchase. She enjoyed it heartily. I had as well, though I'd changed my mind immediately the following morning.

I felt much less shame than I should have. But there was shame, sometimes of the things we did, sometimes of the things I thought. Sometimes, when I held her hips and her back arched and she gasped and gripped me by the hair, and I felt the wonderful, familiar churning of imminent release, I would remember that kilograms of my flesh were floating unguarded in Zero-Space, and that it was likelier than previously believed to be moved or incinerated by some passing ship. Out there, it was unprotected. Out there, it was not safe. Not mine. I remembered this, and rather than act with rational fear and urgency, I would climax, thinking _let it burn…just let it die away_.

Days raced by. We marked every corner of the forest, though we spent most of our time on the futon, wrapped in fleece blankets and old bed sheets. Though he grumbled, Tobias understood and disappeared for long stretches of time, leaving us the wind in the leaves and soft static on the television.

But we were fair, and one day Tobias requested the forest for himself, without the presence of the "24-hour Andalite porn network." I decided to show Jennor the Hork-Bajir valley.


	53. Chapter Twenty Three: Part Five

PART FIVE OF SIX

The Hork-Bajir were happy to meet a new Andalite friend, and Jennor was kind and warmer than I knew she could be. She explained the visit to their world that she had made, expressing it in language that did not reveal the obvious destruction it had faced. I did not think it was necessary. They were slow, but certainly not ignorant of suffering.

So many of them had been Controllers. We had more in common than I wanted to admit.

(Are you feeling all right?) She asked as we walked slowly over the gentle slopes of the hills.

(I am still not accustomed to this Earth topography,) I said, rubbing a cramp out of my leg. (All these hills.)

(Yes.)

(Do I repulse you?) I demanded.

(Of course not.)

I looked away, ashamed of my random outburst, but happy with this new resolve. This was a question I had repressed for too long. (Why do you avoid me like this? Is it because of your Trainer? Your…your past? You can't face me like this?)

(That wouldn't be fair to you,) she said quietly.

(Then what is it?) I asked.

(We are on Earth. It is easier to be on Earth when you are of Earth.)

(What—)

(Breathe, Aximili,) she said. (Take a deep breath of Earth's air and feel satisfied. Eat the Earth grass and try to forget the soft, sweet sod of your own scoop. Can you do it? Can you pretend we are home when we walk on this planet?)

I was surprised by her answer. It was articulate, well-planned. Like she'd been waiting for me to ask this question for a long time.

(No,) I said.

(You were nearly driven insane by this planet before my arrival. You tried to stay Andalite on an unwelcoming planet that didn't craft you, didn't nurture you, didn't select you through millions of years of evolution. Humans and Earth are inexorably linked, and you are a stranger, an intruder. Why do you deny that?)

(Because it's what I am.)

She stopped, staring at me sadly. Her hands rubbed together, and she gazed at them a moment before shelving them behind her back. I felt a moment of suspicion, but as always, I chose to blink it away.

(It is easier to be with you when I don't feel smothered, suffocated and slowly dying. I can feel myself dying here. I haven't been on Andal since...I don't know. It doesn't matter. But that's why I like being human. I feel at home when I'm human. Like I have a home. Can you understand that?)

(I understand it,) I said softly.

(It's not you,) she assured. (It's this.) She kicked a hoof in the ground and uprooted a rock. (How many rocks have you swallowed since you've been here? And subterranean wildlife? And the rain, to even bring up the rain is—)

I felt the Earth shake suddenly.

(Did you feel that?) I asked. (That came in the direction of...)

Jennor was already morphing Goshawk.

Flying can be a very peaceful, therapeutic experience. Sometimes when I fly in the forest, I have trouble navigating. I lose my bearings. Trees all begin to merge into one giant, rolling, green blanket, and I forget where I'm headed, where I've been, where I'm going. I understand the appeal it has to Tobias. No home. No chains. No responsibility. Only the great green and blue expanse before you, beckoning you in all directions.

It was perfectly easy to find the scoop now.

Smoke billowed into the forest like the green expanse before us was bleeding. Flames were bursting and folding through the trees.

(Tobias!) I cried. (Tobias!)

(There,) Jennor said, rich and rare fear evident in her voice. A small, winged shape broke through the green.

(Oh, you guys are all right!) He cried. (They found us, Ax, I don't know how, but—)

(Stay separate,) Jennor warned. (It is likely they are surveying the area. They may still be present.)

(They're not, though,) Tobias gasped. (They're not, they rigged our place to explode like you rigged the pool.)

(When?) Jennor asked.

(We may be able to determine that,) I said. (If we can find a mine that did not detonate, we may be able to determine how long ago they were placed.)

(Should we go get Jake and Cassie and everyone? Lay low for a while? We never talked about what to do if this happened!)

(Let us be sure there are no Yeerks.)

We waited, soaring for a while, scanning the forest for camouflaged Yeerks, force fields, or suspiciously behaving animals. We stayed mostly silent for almost half an hour, sick with our own self-indulgent fear, until Jennor's terrified voice finally rang in my head.

(What if we never found out?) She asked me privately.

(What?)

(What if we never investigated, never retaliated, never fought them again? What if we flew east and never came back?)

(What are you saying, Jennor?)

(I do not know why they attacked us, but it is clear they desire a response. They want us to investigate, Aximili. They're counting on our vengeance. Why don't we just run? Let's desert the war, leave all obligation and duty behind us. The Yeerks have indirectly influenced my entire life. I don't want that anymore.)

(We're warriors,) I said.

(No, we're _arisths_, and all they will ever know is that we died in combat.) I was shocked to hear this from her. (There will be no shame. There will be no consequence.)

(You could really abandon your people?)

(I owe the Andalites nothing,) she spat. (And we have Earth. I like Earth. I like the humans. We could be humans, Aximili, we could explore a planet so rich and vibrant, it would take lifetimes to fully experience. And the food! Imagine all the food we haven't tried, and the liquor...we could be happy. Don't you think we've earned that?)

(The Yeerks are here, Jennor. Our happiness would last as long as their patience. We can make a difference here. Don't speak of running, don't think of escape. Think of victory.)

(I don't care about victory, Aximili. I just want you.)

There was a terrible moment, a horrible weakness that almost overcame me, a place deep within my hearts that popped like a kernel of corn and screamed, "YES!"

But instead, I began to descend.

The fires continued to calm and the smoke dissipated, leaving a diffused, hazy glow throughout the forest and the smell of burnt leaves and rubber. We landed shortly after and demorphed.

(Is Rachel all right?) I asked Tobias, standing a few hundred yards from the scoop, watching as the fires continued to die.

(She wasn't even here, I just wanted a break from you two,) Tobias said in a fit of exasperated honesty. (Seriously, I understand how inane you think clothing is, but you guys don't need to just lie around naked all the time. I can't even sit on that couch anymore, I'd contract some—)

(I need to check on the medkit,) Jennor said suddenly. (If they find that...) She took off running before I could offer to accompany her.

(What does this mean?) Tobias asked after a sharp, stressful moment. (This could have been so much worse. It should have been. Why aren't we dead? They found us!)

(I don't know,) I said, feeling the weight of the smoky Earth air on my fragile lungs, tasting the excess of Nitrogen and pollution. I felt trapped again, crushed by the heaviness of the moisture in the air, the thickness of the smoke. Jennor returned less than 10 minutes later.

(It's fine,) she reported.

(We need to examine what's left,) I said.

We headed carefully into the scoop. My hearts sank when we surveyed the damage.

I'd foolishly wanted a part of my life to burn away. Fate had simply burned the wrong part.

Everything was gone. The television was sparking and caved in 10 feet from where we'd left it, the digital recording device I'd tinkered with melted, its inner workings exposed. Bits of charred yellow foam from the exploded futon mattress littered everything, the frame itself was cloven in two. Piles of books and magazines were still burning, a new page turning and curling with an orange rim of ember at the edge. Everything Rachel had bought for her, her sweatshirt, nowhere to be found amidst the indistinguishable rubble. All the food containers, shards of empty bottles and cans, covered with ash or burning themselves. Nothing was where we'd left it. The only thing that even slightly resembled what it had been was the frame of the scoop itself, the tarp burnt and melted, hanging like Spanish Moss.

But Jennor didn't see all that.

(What is that?) She bent over, spotting a strange, shielded area of the ground where grass was still green and dew-covered. She walked over, and I followed. Upon closer inspection, there was a dome of unsmoky air. A low-powered force field.

Jennor pressed her trembling fingers against it, and it allowed her to pass through. I didn't see what she did immediately, but then it was clear. With her thin, dainty Andalite fingers, she plucked a few strands of grass from the chaos. Strands that had been pulled and braided together.

(How did that...) I began, but stopped when I saw the look of horror upon her face.

(Please tell me this was you,) she begged, turning to face me. (In boredom, in restlessness, even while with me, I don't care. Tell me you did this.) Her stalk eyes twirled like lighthouses.

I should have lied. But I told her the truth.

(What does it mean?) Tobias asked. Jennor got up. She was wobbly on her hooves, and had turned a sick, blue-gray pale color. I felt adrenaline surge through my body, terrified of what had just happened.

(We need to go tell Jake and Marco...Ax, we need to tell them,) Tobias said, flapping incoherently like he was in a cage. Jennor was staring far away, into the ground, still looking like she would topple over.

(Yes, we do,) I agreed.

(Well, morph so we can get out of here!)

(Jennor, come on,) I said softly, unsure. Her gaze turned toward me, but she wasn't focused on me. (We need to get out of here.)

(Yes,) she agreed. She wiped her face with both hands and morphed to Goshawk.

It did not take long to organize everyone in Cassie's barn. Jake was arguing with Marco. Rachel was inspecting Tobias' feathers for signs of burns. He fluffed her off. Cassie was standing in front of me, looking terrified and empathetic. Jennor was standing away from the group, in human morph, holding her face gravely in her hand, still distracted and distant.

"It's a miracle you weren't inside when it happened," Cassie said quietly.

(I do not think we were meant to be,) Jennor said, growing paler by the second.

"This is all your fault," Marco spat. "We should have never let you believe we didn't know you were here. Never let you foul things up for us so bad. It was stupid, Jake! I called it then, and God, how I hate being right about these things!"

(It was not your home, Marco. You are in no danger,) Jennor responded.

"But you are," Prince Jake said. "All three of you are."

(No,) Jennor said. (Only me.)

I was sick, and tired, and scared, but I barked out a laugh. "And what logic brought you to that conclusion?"

(Terenia taught me how to braid, Aximili,) she responded.

"The braid?" I whispered, shaking my head, still foggy and dazed from the smoke.

Jennor looked up, powerless to control the truth.

(They want me,) she responded. (And I must go.)

"The only way they could know something that personal is if they…" I shook my head, laughter leaking quickly from my eyes. "It's not possible," I muttered. "They couldn't have gotten to Andal!"

"What is going on? Why do you think they're after you?" Prince Jake interrupted.

(They have my caretaker,) Jennor explained. (They have her because they want me.)

"No, the Yeerks haven't the capability to..." I trailed off, remembering the _Ascalin_, Captain Samilin, the terrible plausibility of her theory.

"I'm not really getting this," Marco admitted. "The Yeerks mined your scoop while you were out and left a braid, hoping you'd find it and know what it means? If they knew where you lived, why didn't they just kill you, or infest you in your sleep?"

(Because it is not always about death or conquest,) Jennor said, burying her eyes in her palms. (They want me to willingly sacrifice myself. They want to inflict that additional torment. This is not just Andalite versus Yeerk. This is something personal.)

"Who did you piss off?"

(I don't know.)

"All right, okay, we should assume the best. The Yeerks would have executed some kind of simultaneous attack if they knew about us, right? That would only make sense. And we're all here, alive. So maybe it really is just about her."

"Well, that makes me feel kind of bad," Rachel said.

"You three, stay as far away from that scoop tonight as you can. The Hork-Bajir. Go stay with the Hork-Bajir; that valley is protected. Everyone else, go home for tonight. If they destroy our houses, we'll need to protect our families. I'll talk with Tom, see if he's acting weird, and if he is, I'll notify all of you. Go to the mall means meet at the valley. If he's not, just act normal. Stay cool. I don't want to panic, do something rash, but this...you really screwed things up for us," he finished. Jennor's face was so pale, it looked gray.


	54. Chapter Twenty Three: Part Six

PART SIX OF SIX

It was a slow flight to the valley. We flew especially far apart, out of thought-speech range. The silence was maddening. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, most of which I knew had no answer. How could she be so sure that they had Terenia, that they hadn't gotten that information through some other means? How could she be so sure it was even her they wanted? What could they want with her? Why now? It had only been four weeks since that first kiss, since I had touched her and loved her and invited her inside my hearts, and she was still recovering from all the adversity she'd faced, she was not yet healed...how could something so meaningful end so abruptly?

How could I accept that?

It was twilight, that beautiful moment on Earth when the sky is jets of blue and orange and pink but the trees and landscape have already drowned into flat silhouettes. Jennor was standing at the edge of a tall precipice, gazing down at the dark valley below her. She watched me approach with a stalk eye that made no attempt to hide that it was sick with fear. There was nothing to say. The fear was justified. There was purpose there, resolve. She'd made up her mind.

(I'm coming with you,) I said.

(No, Aximili. You're not.)

(You are no longer my prince. And even if you were, I'd break the order.)

(This is not your fight.)

(I could help you. Two tail blades are surer than one.)

(No. If you come, you will not help.)

(I am trained in combat, you know.)

(Human sarcasm will not change my mind.)

(Then what will?) I spat, broiling with rage and fear. I moved toward her quickly, though I wasn't sure what my goal was. I felt like attacking her, like punishing her feminine stupidity and stubbornness.

Instead, I pressed my hand against her face in the first Andalite kiss I'd given her.

My spontaneity surprised her. It surprised me, too. I hadn't meant for our conversation to take that turn. I'd wanted this, yes, but I'd assumed it would take much more planning and courage-building to attempt. This had been nothing. Three steps and a sweep of my arm.

I'd partly resigned myself to never indulging in her native, Andalite beauty. But my hand, my Andalite drive had not. I kissed her, and I did not stop, despite the look of shock that sank into her eyes. I moved closer and continued until I felt blood flush under her skin, until her eyes narrowed to slits and she relaxed in acceptance.

Human sexuality was so immediate, so resilient, so greedy. Andalites progressed through foreplay much more slowly. A single encounter could last days, if the pair desired. But evolution had granted us the gifts of instant gratification as well as prolonged intimacy. I was surprised how strong and instantaneous the kiss' effects were. Warmth shot up my arms and pooled just in front of my lower breast plate. She was so beautiful, and together we were more powerful than separate. Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac for many species of prey, and we seemed no different. My fear fueled my desire.

I cupped her face in my hands and stepped forward so our faces almost touched. I could feel her breath against my cheek, the way it stuttered at first, then slowed, surrendering into a deep, humming sigh. I was pleased by this. But I was anxious, and growing more frustrated by the second, that she had not yet reciprocated.

(You give me no choice,) she sighed, words characterized not by their meaning but by their tone. Dread. Regret. Mounting desire. (I can make no argument to convince you to stay. You will listen to no reason. I cannot express how sure I am they will torture and kill you just to hurt me. You're too proud to recognize this as my own blood feud, my own honor. Yes, Aximili, you give me only one option to keep you safe.)

I heard her words, but I did not acknowledge them. At that point, I was worried about only one thing.

How did the mating ritual begin again?

(Elder and younger beget…no…Two bloods become…that's not it…) I muttered a few phrases under my breath, trying to sort them into the right order, but none of them sounded good enough. After a few frustrating moments, I decided to forgo it. I'd have to beg forgiveness sometime in the future. That was fine. I already had multitudes of misdeeds to atone for, what was the harm in tacking on the crime of copulation before meditation?

Her face continued to flush. She watched me, unblinking, eyes as beautiful and alive as the first time I'd seen them. I could have gazed at them forever, but a tingle of fear encouraged me to move on. I stroked the corner of her jaw, the sides of her neck. I moved close to her, pressed my forehead to hers, feeling the damp heat from her breath against my chin. I swung my stalk eye around once more, as a last admittance of an external reality, surrendering completely to her smooth, fragrant flesh.

(You're so suspicious of me,) she said, barely a whisper, finally loosening her arms from her sides. (And rightfully so. I have not told you everything, Aximili. I sang to you and it gave me great joy to be so honest, but not completely honest. I could not tell you everything because you would hate me. You do hate me, and you don't even know it.)

I moved my hands down her neck, over her chest, around her waist to the soft, knotted erogenous zone at the base of her back, the joint of her hithers, the untamed meadow that commits a man once he feeds there. My fear bristled again, but it was different now. Anticipatory. I'd never touched a female there before. It was a very intimate act with vast implications. I felt a spike of fear, or excitement, the thrill of getting away with something I shouldn't be doing. She did not stop me. She gasped when I made contact, when I applied pressure to that particular curve, to that ocean of coiled flesh. I breathed deeply and began to massage it rhythmically, grabbing a fold of skin and rolling it smoothly through my fingers. She relaxed in my grasp, crossing her arms and tucking her hands deeply within the pits of her elbows.

(You hate me because you are a good Andalite. That much you have proven. I can only hope you are exceptional, but I am not so optimistic. It is exceptional to break a Prince's orders like you have, to do what is right despite consequence, but to forgive me for this…that is exception that may not exist.)

Her speech had slowed and thickened as I worked, as blood pooled in the flesh cradled in my hands so it grew warm and swollen. I felt the corresponding zone at the base of my front legs begin to pulse in anticipation, warm tendrils from my hands and forehead reaching down, tributaries of pleasure. I longed for her to move against it, to squirm, to rub, but the twined barrier of her forearms interfered. I was now completely given over to the carnal urges. The fear was indistinguishable from the longing. Visser Three could have stepped right up to me, surrendered, and offered me a pyramid of delicious cinnamon buns as recompense, and I doubted I was even cogent enough to ask him to wait.

(Yes, Aximili, you are perhaps the best Andalite I have ever known. If you forgave me, would all of that be undone? Or would it authenticate your quality? I don't know. I don't know. I wish I did.)

Her arms unknotted, now lifting, up and up, hands raised shoulder-level. Her torso leaned into mine, she pressed her chest into mine, coming closer and closer but not all the way, and I felt my shoulders and shins explode in expectation, excitement, thrill I could feel as naturally on Earth as anywhere. I gasped into her nostrils, almost moving to press my cheek to hers, but no. We weren't that far yet. That much of the ritual I remembered.

(Humans are of Earth, yes, but I am only myself like this. I can hide in their unspoiled flesh, but I am not unspoiled. I hate what I am, but love what it allows me to do. And I've wanted this for so long, since you kissed me, since you showed me how good you really were. I was prepared to want it forever. I would have given it up forever, Aximili, but now that fate has delivered it to me, how satisfied will I be?)

I clutched my weak hand around a throbbing knot in her back, and she seized up in my grasp, hands balling into fists, releasing a flood of thought-speech approval, overcome with a small release of blissful tension. Out of the corner of a stalk eye I saw her powerful tail curl forward in preparation, down, into her body, coiling slowly into her flanks, involuntarily surrendering to the impending event. I could almost giggle in excitement, but the laughter was snatched suddenly from my mind. Instinctively, unknowingly, she lurched forward into my front, and as her lower chest made contact with mine, buzzing with impatient energy, it felt as though a small pouch of something soft, smooth, warm and cool all at the same time burst inside of me. It diffused, running down my legs, through my shins, up to my shoulders, but most of it traveled a long, pulsing passage through my abdomen and met my mating organ. I froze a little in surprise. I could not believe we had come so far so fast, and though I could not wait for us to finally begin, my fear was still there: afraid of inadequacy, afraid we were making a substantial mistake, afraid that something terrible was about to happen.

Her voice was a quivering whisper, either from the result of my massage or from her fear, I could not say. Her hands were raised now, cupping my face with millimeters to spare, and I could almost scream at her just to kiss me, to add that final variable into the mix.

(I wanted it to be perfect, but it was never supposed to be. I'm sorry I waited to so long to say it, but I wanted to be sure I knew what it meant. And now I do.) She breathed deeply. (I love you, Aximili.)

And then she kissed me.

I froze. Some dark, unfathomable part of me reacted instantaneously. I jerked away from her reassuring flesh without even understanding why. Then I touched her hands against my face, and they were cold. I was curious, at first, the way you expect and wonder what kind of pain you will experience immediately after you are injured. I took her hand in mine, examined it closely, ran my fingers over it. So, so cold. Like death. Even tucked up against inside her arms, still so cold. I inspected further, and little veins, dead from lack of use, floated through the surface of her skin.

I looked up at her, unable to speak. One of her hands was still against my face, and I knew she was reading me. Penetrating me. Harvesting, influencing, pacifying.

Defeating me.

My tail snapped forward, over my head, and found a strong hold right beneath her jaw. Her eyes did not change.

(You villain,) I muttered, not even quite knowing what I was saying. Her eyes did not waver. She was seeing everything I thought perhaps more clearly than I did. (You swine.)

(Yes,) she agreed. And again, expecting to see some other emotion from her, I was met only with relief. She was relieved that I wanted to kill her.

(I can't…) I said, feeling some deep sense of conflict within me. My tail pulled away from her neck, then pushed up even harder. The physical manifestation of my indecision.

(Yes, you can,) she said. (Hate me fully, Aximili. Curse me. Threaten me. It is in your mind, allow it to fill your hearts.)

(No,) I said. (I won't. I…)

Jennor was an Hermilian.

I spun around, away from her invasive hands, snapped my tail away and let it strike at nothing in despair. She deserved to die. It was my duty, my responsibility as a true Andalite to kill her. To purge her wicked influence from the might of our great race. She stood her ground, a terrible, victorious look in her eye. She had planned this. Manipulated me from the very beginning, starting with all of those pitiable images and memories on that ship. Snatched my hearts directly from my body without my knowledge or consent, and now she intended to…well, I didn't know what. Thoughts scrambled and raced in my head, and I wondered how many of them were my own and how many of them had been implanted. I put my hands over my ears, trying like a child to keep her influence from me.

(I will go, then,) Jennor said, clasping her hands together in some futile attempt to crush them out of existence. (I will go, and you can forget about me, you can purge my influence, reclaim your identity. Just like I see that you want.)

The conflict surged, bits of arousal still pulsed to confuse me even more. I turned a stalk eye in her direction. She was still so beautiful. I had come so close to consummating our love, to tying myself to her forever. And I knew as a fact—not as truth, not as belief, but as fact—that this crime was not her fault.

She began to morph to Goshawk, and I knew that she wasn't coming back.

(Jennor,) I said, peeling my hands from my ears, forcing myself to gaze upon her with my main eyes.

(Yes?) She asked in a weak voice, unlike the one she'd been using, a voice filled with trembling, mutinous hope.

(I…good luck,) I said. For a moment, she did nothing, only stared with her soulless eyes that even without sentience were filled with grief. Then she nodded her little hawk head and flew off.

It did not take much consideration for me to realize that I could not rebuild my scoop. They may have been looking for Jennor, but they had found me as well. Tobias was safe, as a native species of Earth. They could not purge the forest of every living thing.

But Jennor was right. I was not of Earth. My survival depended on the fact that I could be.

The Animorphs were kind enough to permit me to stay with them alternatively for a couple of weeks. But their families would grow suspicious, and I could not invade their lives to such a degree. I needed my own hiding place.

Unlimited morphing time made my quest easier. I morphed everything. I hid as every species of Earth that I could. I started with the more cranial species: my Harrier, the mammals native to the area, like my raccoon and squirrel. But they were too intelligent. It was inefficient to hide within them. I moved to the insects: the honeybee, the mosquito, driven by primal, ancient instincts, and finally the flea, whose only purpose, only thought, was the search for body heat.

I thought this would alleviate the pain. I thought the inexorable link between Earth and its creatures would blind me, mute the screaming in my mind. It didn't. I felt comfortable here, yes, but I was still so totally alone.

Ripped open. Bleeding, heartbroken, shattered. No morph could cure this injury.

Tobias and Cassie were especially worried about me. What could I tell them? They had been right. I had gone too fast. I'd been too quick to accept love, too desperate for relief both times, and now I only had one hope left.

I breathed Earth air, and I fed on Earth's energy, and I wondered when I would be able to return home.


	55. Chapter Twenty Four: The Empress

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Empress

PART ONE OF FOUR

I was slick with sweat, heaving deeply, nearing completion. My fingers reached up and back and gripped the oily skin on his face, and I could hear the approval in his voice, feel it in his breath on the back of my neck. His hands clawed up and down my rib cage, over my chest, gripping the thick fur on my flanks. Every deep thrust was punctuated by a throbbing, stinging burst of pleasure in my lower back, which he had thankfully primed with a large degree of expertise.

Nagrit was heavy on my back, but not unbearably so. His back legs provided no support, since he had crawled as far forward as he possibly could, ensuring the friction of his chest against my back. There was hidden strength in these female Andalite legs. Enough to support the weight of an unborn child, I supposed. More than enough to support the weight of my mate.

(Do you still believe that any part of this was a bad idea?) I breathed to him.

(No,) was the only word he could manage to form.

We were alone on a Bug Fighter. Trackers we had gleaned from planets all over the galaxy followed in three Bug Fighters in loose formation behind us. This configuration had confused Visser Three. He was no proponent of the art of subtlety. He had wondered why I hadn't drawn my Pool Ship from Saturn to Earth, a grandiose and baroque gesture that would have surely awed and subdued his subordinates. I had explained that a small armada of Bug Fighters would be less conspicuous, more conservatory and practical. This had made him smile, a terrible, suspicious thing that had shocked and terrified me. He'd told me that he just wanted to make sure I was kept safe, that Andalite ships had a terrible habit of showing up sudden and unannounced. For instance, six months ago, that small marshmallow that he'd shot down.

I knew that was her. He said he'd destroyed it. But she'd survived.

_You're ruining it,_ I chastised myself. Terenia heard me, but the majority of her focus was elsewhere.

After a short jump through Z-Space, Earth was less than an hour away from Saturn at maximum burn. Despite the urgency I felt about the current situation, I decided it was wiser to take our time.

Shivers ran up and down Nagrit's underside. I arched from the pleasure they caused, but sank when I realized what their source probably was. A source of fury, not rapture. The source of the impotence that had kept me from arousing Nagrit for over an hour, the first time we'd tried this. The source that had sent him into a short-lived, hysterical rage that had been the most uncharacteristic and frightening thing he had ever done.

His arms gripped me around the neck almost too tightly. I shut my eyes. A moment of stressful bucking, wordless thought-speech glee. I could feel his hard, sharp breast bone stab into me, a pleasure so intense it became pain. Something deep within me clenched, seizing my muscles, sending tsunamis of cool relief all through me. Immediately following, a sudden and fulfilling jet of warmth discharged deep within my belly. I could only assume it was Andalite orgasm, if that was even the ultimate goal of their exchanges, but it certainly was not unwelcome. We both remained still for a moment, catching our breaths, as sweat and pheromones flowed off of us. His chest heaved against my back. I tilted my head back so I could see him with my main eyes. He was beautiful, haloed with the harsh fluorescence above him, but still the most acceptable thing my eyes had ever witnessed. He kept his hands on me, and I watched him climb down with a stalk eye.

(It was not wise,) he said finally, stretching out his tail, strutting the cramps out of his legs, moving forward to kiss me. (But it was not bad.)

The doctor had delivered our contraceptives. Nagrit had not been very happy with me when I'd surprised him. He said it was uncharacteristic foolishness to trust a free Andalite, that I may as well have confessed the nature of our relationship to the Council themselves. He was not wrong, of course, but his opinion had changed quickly when we'd first successfully used them.

Terenia was virtually silent. I assumed it was either shock or satisfaction, or perhaps some combination of the two. Vaxidun was not. I did not know the extent of his rage, but I knew it was enough to make Nagrit yell and enough to make him lie. Then he laughed, like Vaxidun's outbursts were nothing to worry about. Mood swings were something Nagrit had never before exhibited. He was defined by his stoicism. And Nagrit never laughed unless he was very, very worried.

But how could I ruin this new happiness with unfounded suspicion? Vaxidun was a male, and all males of any species accept sex no matter who it's from. A flaw, or an advantage of their design, depending on your perspective. Males were nothing if not reassuringly predictable.

Life had finally reached some semblance of happiness. I had achieved the goals I'd set, I'd gotten the things I'd wanted. A fifteen-odd year love affair had finally been consummated. And an even older quest was nearing completion.

Jennor was on Earth, and we would find her.

Nagrit stood behind me, still warm and crispy with dried sweat, arms linked around my waist, chin bristling against my shoulder. Shivers ran through his chest. I was at the control panel, recalculating the course. My hearts pounded audibly, but I was used to performing well under great pressure.

(How much longer until we arrive?) He asked.

(About four hours.)

(And we're landing directly on Earth?)

(We need to go aboard Visser Three's Blade Ship, to pick up his trackers,) I said heavily. (Although I doubt they'll be any more effective than the trackers I've selected.)

(Are you going to behave yourself?)

(I'll do my very best,) I promised.

(Only four hours,) he mused, burying his face in my shoulder. I turned a stalk eye toward him.

(Until we reach Earth, yes. So what?) I knew "so what." I wanted to hear it from him.

(Terenia must be thrilled to go home,) Nagrit said, prolonging the game.

(She hasn't said much,) I admitted. Nagrit's fingertips ran down the length of my arm, and shivers crawled in the wake. (But you are unhappy about something.)

(We may not obtain privacy like this ever again.)

(We will on the trip back,) I said with forced optimism. His weak fingers intertwined with mine.

(Aren't we taking Jennor back with us?) He asked.

(No. I believe it may be unwise to attack her personally.)

(What do you mean?)

(She seems to have joined the league of Andalite Bandits who have continually eluded and frustrated Visser Three. I'd like to attribute this solely to his incompetence, but we've seen them in action. We know that they are, in fact, good fighters.)

(We do.)

(It is very possible that if we attack them, they could get away. They could even win.)

(You say this even with the resources of an Empress?)

I gazed into his main eyes with my stalk eyes. (I try very hard to underestimate nothing, Nagrit.)

His grip tightened. (What is your plan, then?)

(I believe if we inform Jennor that her best friend is infested, she will surrender herself to us.)

(That is a rather large wager.)

(I don't believe so. She is honor-bound. She lacks the common sense to keep her from getting on a ship with someone as terrible as that trainer of hers. And that blind, delusional sense of chivalry that all Andalites have will require her to act. I can only pray that sixteen years is not so long that she'd forget...but no. I believe Terenia had a rare positive influence on her. She'd remember. She'd respond.)

(So how do you plan to inform her? If not in person, then how?)

(I haven't quite decided yet. In person would be unwise. Even with guards, Earth is an unfamiliar place.)

(Is it?) Terenia finally said.

(Oh, hello,) I sighed back. (I've given you such happiness that you've finally managed to shut up, huh?)

I felt her conjure contrived fury, flitting through memories to harvest it. She was happy, but she'd never let me think it. (I'll never be happy until I'm free,) she said. I scoffed.

(We need to find her first, is the point. Find her without letting her know that we're looking.)

(That shouldn't be so difficult. The trackers can give us a general area, and then we'll send out micro-honers to pinpoint her exact location. We'll make sure she's not there when we leave our message, which will be...?)

(I don't know, I'll think of something…something very emotive and…) Nagrit's hands continued to move, smooth and practiced, over my fragile Andalite skin. My hearts continued to pound, bearing a message of great urgency and need. (The course is fine, Nagrit. And we have four hours, correct?)

(Perhaps two of perfect privacy,) he said.

(Then let's use them.)

We docked to Visser Three's Blade Ship in what felt like much less than four hours. He was waiting for us at the docking bay, casual in all his smug self-assuredness.

(Once again accompanied by the faithful Sub-Visser 24,) he said. (Wonderful to see you again.)

(Likewise,) Nagrit said with a smile. He gazed at me for a moment, taking a step back. Then he saluted, since he was ranked beneath the Visser.

(Take me to the trackers you procured for us,) I said. (My own have my faith entirely, but it would be nice if something you did was not completely useless.)

(Right this way.)

The Visser led us slowly to the bridge, careful to keep his stalk eyes moving, uninterested. I watched him closely. He sauntered with great arrogance, confidence. I felt myself grow cautious. I knew he was going to try something once we were alone.

(There is a small administrative task we need to attend to,) he said, turning suddenly into his quarters. (Irritating, I know, but they're your orders, sir.)

I was impatient, but this tedium was a responsibility I'd accepted when I'd suspended his rank. One that had already become rather bothersome. I'd already shut down some ridiculous project to complete full genomes of all the DNA found in the blood of the Andalite bandits. What a pointless waste of resources.

(Fine. What is it?)

He swaggered to his personal computer and pulled up a video file. A three-dimensional representation of a squat, ugly Earth building appeared.

(It is a human research firm,) he reported. (It appears they've made the first strides in discovering the realm of Zero-Space.)

(How wonderful for them,) I said.

(I require your permission to infest all of the staff associated with the project.)

I scoffed. (Permission denied.)

(I beg your pardon?)

(Infest the director and shut down the project. Allocating any resources beyond that is a waste.)

(But sir—)

(Visser, are you questioning the efficiency with which I have allocated your resources?)

He paused, and I saw the rage it caused him to do so. (Of course not, sir.)

(Concentrate your infestation focus on political and military targets. Is that not rule number one in my acquisition theory?)

(It is, sir.)

(Is this a political or military target?)

I was patronizing him, and he knew it, and it did not make him happy. (No, sir. I simply believed those particular humans were worth the sacrifice.)

(Do you honestly believe human Zero-Space theorists would offer any additional insight into the realm that we do not already have? This frivolity, this egregious mismanagement is what got you into trouble in the first place. And, in case you hadn't figured it out, it was you, Esplin, your complete failure in capturing Jennor that kept the Council from carrying out Visser One's sentence. Something that I assure you made no interested party happy. We all just wanted this nonsense to be over. The Council was unwilling to execute two of our top three Vissers, so instead, they've delayed Edriss' execution and shifted their focus to you. You're finally showing your true colors. They grow more impatient and unimpressed with you each day. Congratulations on keeping your overt political nemesis alive. I hope that very soon she will be the only proverbial thorn in my side.)

The visser turned toward me slowly, standing as straight and broad as he could, reminding me of his pointless physical superiority. Then, using his stalk eyes, he relayed my order to his adjutant on Earth. He glared at me the whole time he did so.


	56. Chapter Twenty Four: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

Shortly after, we reached the bridge, and to my surprise, four humans stood in front of us. Terenia gasped.

(Those are real,) she said. (Those are real humans.)

(I thought you were going to give us expert Hork-Bajir trackers,) I said almost petulantly.

He barked out one condescending laugh before offering an even more condescending, apologetic bow. (I mean absolutely no offense, sir, but what purpose would Hork-Bajir trackers have on an alien planet? I'd assumed you would bring expert trackers from elsewhere in the galaxy, and I wanted to give you something more native. Something with firsthand experience. Something…efficient, sir. Earth is their playground, let them play.)

I glared with one stalk eye, more disappointed in myself than him, and scanned them over quickly, feeling the disgusting surge of energy and resistance in my head. Terenia was growing strong with this renewed hope.

(Are they native to the local area? I know Earth has many different biomes. I wouldn't want you to give me an Eskimo tracker for a Californian climate.)

(They're native. Don't worry, Empress, I know my planet. Just like I know Andalites.) He narrowed his eyes at me, wicked smile coming to his eyes. (Just like I know what you're doing with your assistant.) He spoke privately, and the words sounded strange and forced. Visser Three was not used to playing coy. I smiled at him, though I very suddenly regretted being so smug with him earlier.

(And what do you think that is?) I asked.

(Why else would you spend hours in a cramped Bug Fighter with him? You wanted privacy. A special privacy not generally afforded to us high-ranking Yeerks.)

(Privacy,) I scoffed. (You make wild accusations without much proof. That shouldn't help your case, when you're being accused of reckless behavior and a lack of foresight.)

I worked very hard not to look at Nagrit.

(Sir, you know that proof is unnecessary to hurt you,) He said. (I may not be Emperor, but I know how precariously we cling to our positions. Even a shred of doubt, which you've offered more than generously, can undo you, _sir_.)

I blinked my eyes for only a moment, a natural, unsuspicious movement, but while my sight was shielded by that thin layer of skin, the only thing I saw was Nagrit's heaving, broken form in the Council's torture chambers, screaming with all of his might that he was innocent, begging for mercy. But not for me. I would already be dead.

(Load them up, Sub-Visser. We can't afford to waste any more time.) I said, cringing at my own clear hypocrisy.

(I do not wish to break up a love affair,) the Visser continued privately. (Even I know that we live in a galaxy with far too little of it. And there is really only one reason I could think to pursue that course of action.)

I followed the trackers down the hallway as Terenia's rage continued to burn.

(I like Earth, Empress. I don't want to leave it. And I like being Visser Three. Yes, I would prefer to replace that human-sympathizing traitor, and I'm sure with a little more testimony from you, it will someday become a reality. And though I may not have captured her, I did keep the elusive Jennor-Elacable-Barees ripe for the taking, didn't I? For that, I believe I deserve credit. Perhaps even a commendation.)

He was asking too much, but instead of annoying me, it made me anxious. I had to give him the only thing I could. I turned a stalk eye towards him, gulping back my disgust. (If you are worried about the status of your sentence, Visser, please note that it is still pending. It requires my approval before it can be carried out.)

It was a pathetic surrender. But what choice did I have? Appease him, or let Nagrit die? I knew the contract was tenuous, but it was better than the certainty of death.

(I am aware.) He smiled at me as Nagrit ushered the trackers into the Bug Fighter. (I cannot wait to see whose trackers fare better.)

We had to wait until night to descend to the planet. The sun had just set over California, but its influence could still light up our ship to primitive human sensors like a bulb. Nagrit took the controls while I debriefed the trackers.

I explained the careful plan while Terenia gazed in awe. I wanted to know Jennor's location exactly within one square kilometer. I did not want them to find precisely where it was. I worried what they would do if they came across her themselves.

(Look at them,) she finally said. (They're so..._human. _Is that how men wear their facial hair now? And that tattoo, what is that? I don't know that. It looks like a Muppet or something.)

(The Earth has continued to spin, Terenia.)

(It never even missed me.)

(Scour the meadows where the Visser feeds. It is unlikely the Andalites live in proximity to his grounds, but it will reveal the sort of geography they prefer. I want news at the first sign of hoofprints. They do not resemble any cloven Earth species. They'll be hollow, like this,) I said, lifting up my hoof.

"What should we do if we come across her?" One human asked. Terenia gasped.

(It's different in person than through speakers,) she said. (And that Councilman, that Sessil guy, he is not human. He may look it, but he's not.)

(Do not engage. I assume the Andalites know better than to reveal themselves to humans. But if you see her, act like your host would. Wonder. Fear. Run away, then transmit the coordinates where you saw her.)

"Yes, sir."

I walked over to the control panel and watched Nagrit's hands work the controls. They were designed for Taxxon pincers. We had begun to outfit some of the Bug Fighters aboard my Pool Ship with controls more ergonomic to Andalite hands, but the process was long and required our engineers to rewire the controls completely. I watched the way his thin fingers danced, tendons plucked like strings on a violin.

(What are we doing with his trackers once we're finished with them?) He asked.

(Visser Three requested their return.) I responded. Nagrit turned a suspicious stalk eye toward me.

(And we are honoring his requests now?)

(It's a simple request. What am I going to do with a bunch of human trackers anyway?) I asked.

His eye narrowed. (He's days away from being demoted and possibly even condemned to die, who cares what he wants?)

I glanced back at the trackers. (How long until we enter the atmosphere?) I asked Nagrit.

(He knows, doesn't he?)

I shook my head. (The Council's ultimate judgment is the only thing that matters, and we—)

(I knew this wasn't a good idea,) he sighed.

(It's not a problem, Nagrit. He and I have come to an agreement.)

(Until he decides he wants something else,) he snapped. His brown eyes were deep and unblinking, hands now trembling with fear. (We should never have begun this. You should have reassigned me decades ago. We can't continue this.)

I looked down, and in my hearts, I knew he was right.

(We will end it when it is over,) I said. (And it has only begun.)

Nagrit shook his head. (How can we continue?)

(Because once the pool in the dome is finished, we'll be out of this solar system for good, completely uninvolved with him anymore. We can be more private. We can ride the coattails of our recent victories. Even if he says anything, it's his word against ours, and he's failed perpetually while our successes have mounted. Let him have his planet. Let him be Visser Three, who cares? His incompetence will be his undoing, and I have the patience for that.)

(Terliss, I...)

(I could order you to cooperate. Of course, I'd rather not accept those implications. It would, however, protect you, if we ever...) I stopped. That's not what I wanted him thinking about right now.

He sighed. (I feel so powerless most of the time,) he said, (even though I work for the most powerful Yeerk in the galaxy.)

(I am held up by those I lead,) I said. (And they like me, Nagrit. Despite a few notable exceptions, they like me. Yes?)

(Yes.)

I did not feel I had convinced him, but I was confident the strength of his affection would push him over the edge. And I knew how stupid I was being, how selfish. How this could never end well. But good things that end never end well, do they? I did not want it to end. Was it guaranteed to end? Or could I die with this secret? Could that be the only end?

We landed on Earth at about 2100. My trackers, aliens from a dozen different worlds, immediately charged into the woods, while the humans seemed to take their leisurely time.

Nagrit and I waited in the local Yeerk Pool. It was only then that I saw the damage it had suffered. The pool itself was gone, a gaping hole mostly filled with sand. A few storage sheds had been torn down, and there were some burn marks and stress fractures along the walls, what could only be the results of even more recent attacks. A number of large, glass vats of Yeerks sat lined by the cages. The circle they made around the pool seemed somehow sequential—groups of Hork-Bajir sat funnelling Kandrona rays into vats manually. Vats before moved with vibrant vitality, and vats after floated raw and dead-looking. It was a terrible sight for any Yeerk. The cages that lined the pool were mostly empty. Many hosts had escaped. The thought that Jennor had done this, had continued to do this, made me shiver.

The few Controllers in the pool applauded our arrival, though the festivities were somewhat grave. I didn't like the attention, and they were surprised by my demeanor. I was neither upset nor angry about the developments on Earth. I reacted with the same sort of determined apathy that I'd perfected in imperial addresses. I think they assumed I would be punishing them. I assured them I did not subscribe to the same stringent schedule of penalties that their leader did.

It was three days before we heard anything. Nagrit and I had to be funnelled Kandrona rays. Nagrit's host made quite a fuss, or so I heard. Terenia was crying when I reentered her. Tears were hard and painful through her microscopic tear ducts. I hated when she forced human reactions in a form that was not built to perform them.

(They're really real,) she sobbed. (I'm really here.)

Later that night, the human trackers returned. Mine were out, since they could only work at night. "We believe we have found her," they said.

The micro-honers were small, little penny-shaped black things that could hover, equipped with tiny scanners that were essentially miniaturized Gleet BioFilter technology. They'd returned with some samples they'd collected from a local forest. She had grown restless, cutting into trees with her tail blade. Microscopic keratin shavings embedded in the wood. More sensitive equipment registered the DNA as male.

(You're mistaken,) I said. (This is not her DNA.)

"Try this," another tracker said, bringing forth a tuft of Andalite fur that had been caught on a branch.

The scanners identified it as female.

(How many samples did you find?) I asked.

"Just these two."

I looked at Nagrit. He was concerned, thinking.

(Visser Three said there are seven Andalite bandits, including Jennor.)

"Perhaps we should consider what Visser One suggested—perhaps the rest are not Andalite."

I glared at the tracker for a moment, now disgusted with his insight, despite the fact it was the only reason he'd even been summoned. I stroked my chin, sly and terrible ideas coming to my mind. (It is not our problem. It's Visser Three's.)

"I will give him this information so he can—"

(Allow me,) I said, retrieving the scanner and its information. Nagrit gave me something between a glare and smile.

(You're going to keep it from him,) Nagrit surmised.

(I'm going to keep us safe,) I replied.

(So much for that philosophy we devised all those years ago,) he spat.

(Once we decrypt the computers on the Dome Ship, Earth will be ours. And if he doesn't catch the Andalite Bandits before then, we can still punish him for his incompetence. I dislike him enough to bend this one rule,) I said. He looked away in disgust.

I swallowed back my unceasing desire to make him happy and turned to another tracker. (I believe I have a plan. Can these be rigged to explode?)

"Everything we make can be rigged to explode."

(Excellent. You've located their scoop, correct?)

The trackers scoffed. "Of course we did. They tried to hide it, but their Andalite arrogance made them sloppy. It was evident from two kilometers away. Almost insulting, really."

(Very well. Program the micro-honers to monitor the scoop. Alert me the second they leave. I'd like to pay them a visit.)

"Yes, sir." The trackers left the room to complete my orders.

Nagrit looked at me. (Do you really think humans could have wreaked all of this havoc on Earth?)

I searched deep within Terenia. It had been twenty years. I'd done everything I could think to quiet her, bribed and mollified, humiliated and threatened, and she still had not given up.

(I believe they could.)


	57. Chapter Twenty Four: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

A couple of days later, the trackers alerted us that the Andalites had left. "Morphed and flew off," is what they said. I was strangely jealous that they got to see her before I did. Probably because despite how long it had been since I'd received this assignment, a part of me felt totally unprepared.

Regardless, I decided to make my visit. A cloaked Bug Fighter dropped us off about a mile away. I walked with Nagrit slowly and clutched his arm the whole way.

The scoop was tiny and unkempt. Human clothes littered the ground, as well as other fascinating human trinkets, like aromatherapy candles, snowglobes, lots of plastic cutlery, and a cardboard pair of 3D glasses. A television sat between massive and anally organized stacks of books, magazines, and cassette tapes. Brown grocery bags full of junk food sat tipped and overflowing on the futon, which was covered with conservatively-colored wads of sheets and blankets. A wide assortment of human undergarments were draped over the back of the futon, both male and female. I picked up a twinkie, turning it over in my hands.

(Hah, I remember those. Only thing 'sides cockroaches that will outlast the apocalypse,) Terenia laughed slightly maniacally, delusionally. (Pick up that magazine, I want to know what's going on!)

(We shouldn't linger,) Nagrit warned. (Just because they're not here doesn't mean others don't visit.)

(You're right,) I said, catching sight of the underwear again. (Nagrit, do you think...) I said, pointing to it.

(The only male and female pair of Andalites on an unexplored planet, with no one for company save some primitive humans?) He asked with a slight laugh. (Sounds like a rather desperate fantasy.)

(He could be valuable,) I said. (Perhaps we should...)

(She is in our hands, Terliss. We've waited twenty years for this, and one sure thing that will ruin it is overambition. The male could be valuable, yes, but he's not going anywhere.)

(You're right again,) I sighed. I knelt down, grabbed three strands of grass in my hand, and quickly wove them together.

(You...) Terenia began. (That's...no. Stop it. No, this plan won't work! She won't get it!)

(I'm glad you agree the plan is strong, Terenia,) I replied. (I don't do this to hurt you, you know that. It is clear Jennor has experienced happiness. That is the most consolation I can give you.)

(You think that's enough?) Nagrit asked, inspecting the braid.

(The subtler, the better. The more questions she has, the more likely she is to come and ask them. Set a force field around it. I don't want it accidentally destroyed.)

(Yes, sir,) Nagrit said, burying a small force field projector beneath the ground.

We left shortly after, and when we got aboard the Bug Fighter, we detonated the micro-honers.

We decided it would be best to meet her in our element, off of Earth. I considered leaving Nagrit, just because I did not trust that Visser Three could handle the task of securing her once she turned herself over. But how difficult could it be? He was shrewd enough to blackmail me, and handcuffing and bagging an Andalite's tail could be no more difficult than that. Besides, I could not bear the thought of leaving Nagrit with that man again, especially since Nagrit had been the one to uncover his incompetence in the first place. Nor could I bear the thought of living any longer than a day without him again so soon.

The trip back on the Bug Fighter was less passionate, more anxious. We spent most of it discussing plans.

(Do you think it's better to keep her on the Pool Ship or the Dome Ship?) Nagrit asked, stroking my face absent-mindedly.

(Each has its merits. The Pool Ship is entirely under Yeerk control. There are no erratic variables. But it's not ours anymore, and I want her to be in my fortress, not just behind the Yeerk's borders. The Dome Ship is my fortress now. Besides, the Dome Ship has weapons that the Pool Ship does not.)

(We could simply reassign Sub-Visser 11 to the Pool Ship.)

(That would help, yes. But the sight of her people, so powerful and immune in their own minds, as slaves…that is not something we can replicate. That is not something we should be so quick to dismiss.)

(Once we have her, what do you plan to do with her?)

(Kill her as soon as possible. But I want her to feel it, Nagrit. I want her to know the torment she's put me through. I want her to suffer to her dying breath. It doesn't need to be slow. Quick deaths are often much more painful and terrifying than slow ones. There is no guarantee that death is a relief.)

(That sounds wonderful,) Nagrit sighed, pressing his hand against my face.

(We should infest her when she gets on board. Or at least attempt to. I get the strange feeling that whatever ailment protects those three from infestation infects her as well.)

(Visser Three will most likely do that before he brings her. He will waste many Yeerks before he gives up.)

(I do not know whether he is tenacious or foolish,) I scoffed.

(Perhaps a little of both. Just like us,) Nagrit said, touching our foreheads, wrapping a stalk eye loosely around mine, exhaling a little too quickly.

We decided on the Dome Ship. For her to witness the raw power we'd exuded over her people would surely weaken her resolve. Nor were we certain that Sofor was the only Andalite she knew on that vessel. The possibility of seeing other infested Andalites, acquaintances, friends...

I was focusing on how I would weaken her rather than how I would kill her, and I knew this was strange. Perhaps it was my own disgust of her, the hate I'd managed to develop for her as she'd constantly, perpetually eluded me. I wanted her to feel it. I wanted to reciprocate. I wanted her to glimpse the hell she'd put me through before shoving her head-first into the fire. I wanted her to beg for me to kill her, to end the constant, accelerating stream of pain I would subject her to. I wanted to see that flicker of hope go out before I killed her.

But a strange feeling accompanied the satisfaction when I imagined the ultimate act. Some kind of sudden spike of pain or embarrassment, and a nervous shiver that ran through the snake still heavily contained inside of me. They were not pleasant thoughts, though they were the most pleasant subject matter.

Fortunately, my confusion was short-lived. Only twenty-six hours after the micro-honers had detonated, Visser Three gave word that he had her.

(Bring her here,) I said. (Do whatever you want to before you get here, but don't kill her. Leave that privilege to me.)

I told Sub-Visser 11 to stay on call, but I was vague about the reason. I'd need him soon. His eyes drilled suspiciously into mine, but he obeyed.

Every second that ticked by delivered more mounds of nerves that buried and suffocated me. Nagrit soothed and massaged, but any he effectively relieved were immediately replaced. I was excited to meet her, terrified of her, impatient to finish her. Terenia felt all of these things in polar ways, making the apprehension even more unbearable.

Nagrit and I were in the middle of an intense, personal act when we received word that the shuttle had docked. We finished before I gave the order to bring her to my quarters.

My hands were shaking, my breath was short, knots creaked and groaned in my shoulders and shins. Nagrit held me tightly until the absolute last second, and then he moved behind me, waiting as patiently and professionally as he always had.

Visser Three opened the door. (Greetings, Empress. Sub-Visser.) He saluted to me, Nagrit saluted back. He stood still for a moment, watching us again with that amused arrogance, prolonging this moment as long as he could.

(Where is she?) I demanded. Visser Three stepped inside the door, and three Hork-Bajir, each walking stiffly, waiting for her to erupt, dragged a trembling, subdued wild bronco's bound form inside my quarters.

Relief flooded through me, untangling the knots, calming the nerves. I was totally unimpressed. She had grown, yes, and she seemed to have formed herself into a reasonably capable warrior, but muscles are meaningless without the posture and confidence to support them. She was nothing. Trapped under the weight of the immense failure of her race. Suffering from whatever atrocities Visser Three had delivered her. Watching her old friend watching back with so much disdain. She did not even attempt to hide how overwhelmed she was.

She was smaller than I expected, like she hadn't been allowed to fully mature. Her tail muscles spasmed beneath the sizzling energy ropes, which made me nervous, but what could one tail do? She wouldn't look me in the eye, either. She couldn't even acknowledge me with a glance.

(Oh God,) Terenia sobbed, brittle hope splintering and shattering. (Look at her, look what you've done to her.)

I didn't say anything. I didn't want to break this wonderful, horrible moment. I glanced back at Nagrit. He was smiling, enjoying it just as much as I was.

The nerves had melted away nearly immediately. I felt that strange confidence that always emerged in my darkest, most desperate hours. That dark, inflating balloon that slept right alongside the python. It was good that I had been nervous, but it was irrelevant now.

I had her.

(Terenia,) Jennor entreated in a voice as flimsy as her posture, a voice so different than the one in Terenia's memory, a voice scarred and debilitated by her obvious years of torment. She finally gazed up at me with her stalk eyes. I noticed that one of her main eyes was swollen shut, and I scanned the rest of her to see deep purple bruises pulsing, blood oozing. (Keep fighting, my sister, don't you dare give up yet.)

(Oh God,) Terenia whispered again, still too shocked for resistance.

(It is wonderful to finally meet you in person, Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) I said, breathing in deeply. (You may release her.)

The Hork-Bajir immediately obeyed. One let her go while the other kicked her in the ribs. I heard a wet "crunch" as she buckled.

(I will expect a full report of her injuries from you, Visser Three. _Anything_ you've done to her should be noted. Did you attempt to infest her?)

Again, the Visser relented, an awkward gesture for his normally gregarious personality. (I wanted to discuss that with you, sir. I tried, but—)

(It is irrelevant,) I snapped back. I took a deep breath, cursing my rotten luck. (Nagrit, assign someone to debrief the Visser.)

(Yes, sir.)

The Hork-Bajir guards stood back, on high alert, as Nagrit and Visser Three left the room. I approached her like a trapped animal, nervous about scaring her into some kind of fight or flight response, feeling like I should click my tongue and hush her, offer her some scrap of food. She watched me with darting stalk eyes. Her legs were bound to each other, tail tucked firmly against her body with energy binds, though it still thrashed against her body. Her blade was twitching incessantly, undisciplined, instinctive. Her arms were free, but it didn't matter, they were so weak that she could use them only to cling to herself in some desperate, self-comforting act.

(What a form has been delivered to me,) I marveled sarcastically, pressing my hand against the slick, warm skin on her back. She shuddered beneath me. Terenia sobbed.

(Scum,) she grunted. (You are deader than you know.)

I laughed. The threat made me genuinely cheerful. (Oh, I am so glad you've chosen not to be submissive,) I said. (Make this fun for me, please. I've spent so long searching for you, I was hoping for some entertainment.)

(Get your filthy hand off of me.)

I did something unexpected then, even to myself. I released controls of Terenia's thought-speech.

(She's sleeping with the—)

I shut her up quickly, allowed my eyes to glaze over in shock and horror, but only for a moment. Jennor's eyes glinted, trying to figure out what had just happened. I stood, frozen, furiously regaining my footing.

(That was quick,) I admitted to Terenia.

(I'm not out of this yet, you bitch.)

(What do you want with me?) Jennor asked.

(I want you dead, Jennor.)

(What's keeping you?)

(Dear child, impatience was always one of your deepest flaws,) I responded, offering a kind smile. Nagrit came back into the room, carrying something familiar.

(Visser Three is working with one of our transcriptionists,) he reported. (He wanted me to give you this.)

He handed me the old Shredder and holster, both nearly worn to pointlessness. They were flimsy, scarred, insubstantial. I strapped the cracked, faded holster to my waist above my own, and tested the weight of the Shredder.

(A great warrior, defined by her great weapon,) I laughed. (I bet it doesn't even work.)

(Why don't you try?) She challenged. I turned up the dial to maximum on the Shredder, pointed it at her head, and fired.

Nothing. Her eyes closed and turned away from mine. I felt a wave of unease, and lifted my own Dracon Beam to her head. I pulled the trigger again. Nothing.

I sheathed both, unfastened her holster and handed it back to Nagrit. It took me a moment to realize how nauseated I'd become.

(Was the safety on?) He asked me privately.

(No,) I responded. There was no reason it shouldn't have worked, but I couldn't let her see that I was worried about it. Or sickened by it. I turned back to her immediately. (A weapon so poor that it dampens the effectiveness of everything around it,) I laughed. (I can see what has kept you from the success you devoted your life to earning.)

(Cut me free of these binds and I'll show you how dampened I am,) she said.

I laughed. (I am not proud, Jennor. In tail to tail combat, I would lose. But your tail is all you have. And me? Well, unless you're as blind as you are suicidal, you can see what I have.) I made a grand gesture that indicated the entire ship.

I looked at Nagrit, who had slung the holster over his shoulder. I saw her eyes travel between us slowly, and felt a quick compulsion to distract her from distant conclusion.

(Now,) I sighed, watching her writhe on the ground, (After so many years without seeing each other, I'd love to catch up. How have you been?)

(You've never seen me. You're leeching Terenia's memories. You're nothing more than a virus.)

(In fact, no one on Andal has seen you since you were four years old. Almost seventeen years. That's a pretty long time to go without a postcard or phone call. What were you up to?)

(Exterminating pests,) she spat.

(A warrior with such obvious skill and distinction should have received some recognition. You were in no database; there was no record of you anywhere. But then again, that strange and powerful man is the one who accompanied you on your noble quest.)

Jennor's glance averted. Already surrendered a weak point. I smiled. This would be easier than I thought.

(Certainly he exercised some..._influence_ over you. Am I correct in assuming your association with Tuxebi is, perhaps, the reason for your complete disappearance from any Andalite record?)

Jennor squirmed in her binds, tried to turn over, away from me.

(Perhaps charging headlong into your enemy's open, waiting arms is not the most effective strategy,) I offered. (Perhaps you should have planned this out a little better.)

(Tuxebi's dead.)

(So he was not the one sharing your bed on Earth. I'll be sure to note that.) Her eyes turned up to me for an instant, but they were unreadable.

(I stayed with Tuxebi for thirteen years,) she offered. (Is that what you want?)

(Thirteen years with someone who sliced you, kidnapped you, manipulated you,) I scoffed. (I can only imagine those are fetishes of yours, because a strong warrior, like you, would have resisted much sooner. You did...resist, didn't you? Or were you as smitten with those dark, handsome eyes, those rippling, masculine haunches, that deranged, dominant smile as you were with your obviously detached and uncaring father?)

(Prove he did anything,) she said. (Prove he was not a good Prince.)

(You think defending him will avert my suspicion?) I laughed. (Have you learned nothing during your years in the war but how best to suffer? Jennor, you are making this far too easy.)

(Then stop so it will be more fun for you.)

(More fun,) I said slowly, feeling the familiar gears churn in my head. I reviewed my resources, let my imagination run with them. I made a plan.


	58. Chapter Twenty Four: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

(Nagrit, please retrieve the doctor from the brig,) I said. (Might as well torture two birds with one stone.)

Nagrit was serene, smiling. He nodded, stepping across the main hallway.

I moved over to my desk and pressed the thought-speech enhancer, a tool to extend both public and private thought-speech distances. (Sub-Visser 11 is summoned to the Empress' quarters,) I sing-songed, laughing to myself.

I lifted my hand and turned back to the girl. (This is about to get much more fun, Jennor.)

(You call your assistant by his given name,) Jennor noted.

(And you called Tuxebi "Trainer,") I said. (Designations are all about power, Jennor, which you lack absolutely.)

(Then I shall only call you Terenia,) she vowed.

(The name you choose to identify me by is meaningless. What is not meaningless, and what you must understand now, is my title,) I said, watching her carefully, unblinking. I'd snared her curiosity. (Empress of the Yeerk Empire, here to inflict all the discomfort and pain that she is able.)

Her eyes widened, her head shook a little. She started to say something a couple of times, but finally turned her head downward.

(I would never lie, Jennor, if you hope that I'm baselessly intimidating you. Yeerks consider it quite an offense to lie about their ranks.)

Nagrit returned, followed by two Hork-Bajir supporting a slumping, bony Andalite at the door. I smiled and gestured him inside.

(Do you really need more already?) He asked, gazing at Nagrit with a stalk eye.

(Another slip like that will cost you your wife,) I warned privately, glaring. His face turned pale. (You can redeem yourself now.)

(What is it you want me to do?)

(I assume your knowledge of Andalite anatomy is strong,) I said. He nodded slowly, passing his stalk eyes over the scene before him. (Then you know the parts of your pathetic bodies that are most sensitive to pain.)

(Pressure points?) He asked cautiously, tugging his arms back from the Hork-Bajir. He gazed down at Jennor, who was watching him with childish, pleading eyes.

(I want to assault every single one of them on her body. I want them to burst, I want all of that potential energy to explode at once and decimate her,) I said. (I want her to feel everything she possibly can.)

(She is hurt,) he said insistently. (She requires medical attention.)

(And that is exactly what she is going to receive,) I said, stepping close to her, hovering just above her face. The door opened with timing so perfect I couldn't have planned it. I held my hand up to him for a moment, just relishing in this moment, just tasting, smelling, feeling the wonderful warmth and lust of victory.

Then I waved Sub-Visser 11 inside.

I felt my bowels clench, felt my hearts flutter, felt the rush of excitement as potent as sex. I watched as Jennor squirmed and readjusted on the floor. And I watched as the strong, aged, weary figure of her father came into view.

The entire churning of the galaxy seemed to slow for a moment, and I watched each greedily, stalk eyes on Sofor and main eyes on Jennor. He looked at me, first, bowed his head. Jennor had not yet even glanced at the door, though her stalk eyes were turning slowly. He stepped in carefully, avoiding the Hork-Bajir, grimacing at the doctor, as his glance and hers swept toward each other, until finally, after what seemed like weeks, they made eye contact.

(What…No,) she gasped, body first locking into place, then bucking in her binds, shimmying away from the door, horrified and elated, crying and laughing. Her tail flailed so much that the curled blade sunk into her flesh again and again, and she didn't even seem to notice.

Sub-Visser 11 nearly collapsed. He stumbled into the doorframe and his skin lost some of its flush. I expected as much. Such a shock to a Controller usually elicits a similar response. I had considered informing him of his host's daughter's arrival beforehand. It would have been safer to do so, but I realized I would lose the effectiveness of this particular performance.

He gripped either side of the doorframe with his fingernails, arms and legs tightening, carving deep lines beneath his lusterless skin, fur standing on end, chest expanding in rage. He regained his posture, and some hidden instinct flitted through me, warning me away from this manic power. His stalk eyes looked everywhere, but then looked to me, and they were filled with such reckless hate and boundless rage that I nearly had him contained.

(It can't be! Not him, not here! Not now! Please, let me go back, let him go, take him away!) Jennor was shouting nonsense, incoherence, some of it simply wordless emotion, simultaneously begging to be unbound so she could hold him and flee from him. I glanced at Nagrit. Furious success rampaged through his eyes. I smiled.

(Sub-Visser, come here,) I said quietly, gesturing him with my eyes. (Come see your host's daughter up close.)

His knuckles were white on the door frame, his rage coursing through his body, like the spark on a wick. Air moved through his windpipe too forcefully, making an emphysemic wheezing sound. His tail remained absolutely still. He walked over, pressing his hooves too hard into the ground with each step, shivers running over his flanks.

He stood above her, gazing down, eyes now inscrutable and unfamiliar. (There she is,) he said coldly.

(Yes,) I giggled in response.

(Take him away! Let him go…) she trailed off into unintelligible sobs.

(Doctor,) I said slowly, shifting my gaze. (Your work begins now.)

He glared at me as he stepped over, moving slowly, each gesture a retaliation, and knelt over her back. He pressed his fingers gently against it as she continued to sob. His eyes grew soft and hurt as he continued. I could only guess what she was saying to him, what insulting promises or threats or entreaties she was making, but I didn't care. He looked away, pinching a section of her skin on her lower back between his thumb and forefinger.

(There,) he said.

Even I winced. There was a reason that area was so sensitive. And this was not it.

(Sub-Visser,) I said, removing my Dracon Beam from my holster, focusing the lens so the beam was hot and narrow, turning the dial to just over the power that would cause tissue damage. (Fire.)

He took the gun slowly in his hand. He held it for a moment, weighing it, testing it. His fingers moved toward the dial. He was distracted, it seemed, but I was watching him closely. He glanced up at me, smiled, and turned it up a little. I grinned. I was concerned for a moment that the gun would fail again, but something about the way he held it allayed my fears.

He pressed the gun against the section of skin that the doctor held. The doctor released, and the gun hovered, shaking in the Sub-Visser's stiff hand.

(If you have lied to ease her suffering, I will kill your wife myself,) I said to the doctor. He glared up at me, but nodded solemnly.

The Sub-Visser fired.

Jennor's cries of agony lit up the room like a sun, spasms ran through her back, that one little neuron exploded, delivering bursts of terrible information through axons and dendrites that reached all over her body, sending currents and torrents of pain that made her scream, scream, scream! I laughed from the sheer ease of it, the ridiculous mortality that was evident before me, the total powerlessness that I had so feared.

God, this would be so _easy_.

(Again,) I said. I noticed the wound that the Dracon Beam left—a burnt, charred little pustule of blood, pulsing, weeping out fluid. The doctor searched her side, pinching a bit of skin just below her waist. His hands were not as sure as they were a moment ago. Jennor continued to cry, breath coughing and interrupted, muscles twitching, tail thrashing, but slower now. The Sub-Visser pressed the Dracon Beam against it and fired.

(Aauuughhh!!) She cried. Flashes of image burned through my mind, molten fire and rivers of blood and twitching, dead bodies on the battlefield. They faded as she continued to sob.

(Again!) I cried. The doctor had already found another, this one directly between her shoulder blades. He removed his hands quickly, desperately, shaking them at the wrists as though he was drying them of their guilt. Sub-Visser 11 pressed the gun to her back and fired.

We continued like this for over an hour. Andalites had a lot of pressure points, and I decimated every last one on her body. Her blood leaked into the grass, less opaque than normal. Most of the wounds were cauterized by the heat, but they continued to pulse, pain ravaging her like water against a dam.

This was only the beginning. She was strong, but she would break eventually.

I knelt over her writhing form, even more animalistic than before. It was like she was devolving before me. What had been a bronco was now a curious but ignorant insect, squirming against the weight of some unknown force. I released the energy ropes around her, and her tail and legs uncoiled like the fingers of a dead hand. (Welcome to your life, Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) I said.

It was perfect. The threat was subdued, the danger had passed, the future was safe. Terenia was somewhere distant, sobbing and whining and feeling sorry for herself, but it was inconsequential. I felt trickles of euphoria, a reward for my good work, but I was greedy, and I looked back at Nagrit, who expressed the same type and level of greed.

(Clean up this mess,) I ordered the doctor, eager to get them out of my quarters. (You have acted adequately. There was not a moment that I doubted either of your performances.)

(We weren't performing,) he whispered, pale with guilt, hands shaking, padding away blood from her body with his bare hands, squeezing the little pustules, trying to relieve some of the pain.

I decided, then, that it was a good idea for the girl to stay in the brig with the other uninfestables. The cells, all on the same wall, would keep them separate and safe. Jennor would keep the uninfestables terrified, and they, now almost completely defeated, would keep her hopeless. The Dome Ship was better. I could not replicate this torture on the Pool Ship. She would die within one of the greatest feats of her own people. She would die because of their arrogance and ostentation. I thought it was poetic, anyway.

(Take them both to the brig,) I told my Hork-Bajir. One of them gripped the doctor's tail and dug his wrist blade into its base while the other gently scooped up the girl like some pacified Earth animal. A rabbit, or a kitten perhaps.

"Sir, what—"

(Get them out of here, that's what,) I snapped, feeling blood pool again between my back legs, already desperate for celebration. (And you,) I said to Sub-Visser 11, who was standing very still, almost catatonic. (I will require you in the future. Go comfort your host.)

It took him a few dark moments to respond. He stared unbliking and horrified at Jennor as she curled vulnerably into the Hork-Bajir. Then he turned a slow, expressionless stalk eye to me and said, (Yes, ma'am.)

I would allow her to recover just enough for her to reacclimate to comfort. Then, I would strike again. She would be begging for death within the week.

Blood had stained the grass in my quarters, but I didn't care. Nagrit descended upon me like a storm the instant the door had shut for good, and I laughed, knowing that I had won, feeling happiness overtake me, glee as bright and frightening as a nuclear detonation, and I wrapped myself in him, finally experiencing my happily ever after.


	59. Chapter Twenty Five: Jennor

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jennor

PART ONE OF FOUR

It was night. The cold, breezeless, Earth air made it difficult to fly. I barely made it five hundred meters before I lost control and crashed.

The hillside was rocky; the crash damaging and necessary. Pain ripped through me as I tumbled over merciless shards of granite and chalk. For a moment I lay, letting it pound, but I knew I had to get up. I started demorphing to heal my injuries, but wanted to be nowhere near that form that had read so clearly, made everything so glaringly real...

Instead, I morphed directly to human.

For a moment, I sat there breathless, motionless, arrested. Still distracted by the symphony of shattered, hollow bones, lacerated skin, and molted feathers as the morphing decelerated. Then, in one sweeping motion, I collapsed, curling every bit of myself as close to my chest as possible, and I cried.

I cried for a long time.

It felt good as a human. There was no way as an Andalite to experience such violent, uncontrollable catharsis. The sobs drowned me, and I let them. I let them destroy me as he stood dumbfounded, baffled, and irate less than a mile away.

_It was the only way,_ I reminded myself. _He wouldn't have stayed if he felt any reason to protect you. _Yes. A necessary sacrifice to keep him safe.

But such hate had burned through him, such rage and disgust...it was over. I'd made the decision specifically because of its permanent, irrecoverable consequences. I could never get him back. A fresh sob burst through me as I corroborated this thought in my mind.

But then those last words..."Good luck."

_Good luck._

I lay there for a long time. I kept replaying his last look in my mind, the thoughts that accompanied it. Brittle, white-hot hate. The image of a vase dropped in slow motion came into my mind. Everything seamlessly bound together suddenly torn apart, expanding like a puddle. Even if I could glue it back together, cut myself on the shards, glass dust in my eyes, it would never retain its prior completeness. It would never be the same.

I faced back towards the valley, compelled for a moment just to give up and fly back to him, beg forgiveness and fix it now, assure myself that it would be all right.

I didn't. I didn't because I knew it couldn't.

I sat up, rubbing the tears from my hot face, breathing in deeply and rhythmically, trying to calm down. "Okay," I sobbed. "Okay."

Once again, I felt completely powerless. And, once again, I came to the slow conclusion that it simply was not true.

Some time much later, after restarting and stopping too many pathetic bouts of self-pity, I got up. I worked to keep my breath steady, though my diaphragm still fluctuated. The wounds were fresh, but I'd managed much worse. Hadn't I? I began to walk, cutting my soft, sensitive feet on jagged pebbles. That distracted me. I thought of Terenia. That distracted me even more.

I turned in the direction of the Yeerk Pool. I started there. I would kill them all, find her, bring her back. It would be heroic. I would run in, Shredder and tail blazing, and...

No. That wouldn't work.

I would have done it, before. With nothing to lose, such a rash course of action would have been the perfect method to end my miserable life. But it wasn't about me anymore. It was about saving her and protecting him. And even though I was sure, deep down, that he'd been severed from my life, it didn't mean I held no more responsibility for him. He'd let me into his heart. And he was in mine. I had to protect the part of him inside me, and the part of myself I'd left in him.

I paced around the rocky terrain, cutting my heels and toes, stumbling and wobbling, distracting the pain in my heart with the pain in my feet.

I needed a plan.

It would have been so much easier with him, brainstorming, and the human children, the ones whose great experience and shrewdness had surprised me...but no, this was not their fight. Keep them out of it. Keep them all safe.  
_  
Plan, Jennor. Think. What do you know?_

_Terenia is either infested or dead. No, not dead. They need her as bait, to draw me in, and they cannot guarantee I'll bite if the bait they provide is dead. So she's alive, and her Yeerk has the resources to find me here and blow up my scoop on a planet claimed by Visser Three. Either she was granted permission from him or outranks him. Either circumstance shows that she has great power._

_Okay. A powerful Yeerk. How do you take down powerful Yeerks?_

_You have to get through their guards: Hork-Bajir, Taxxons, everything she has. Weapons, biofilters, torture..._

This was impossible._  
_  
What resources did I have? My Shredder, the holster, the Aldrea's cube...

The holographic emitters.

_I can hide her away, starve her Yeerk, and use a decoy so no one grows suspicious. And once she is free, I can revive her morphing power. I can do more than just liberate her from the Yeerks. I can liberate her from the Andalites._

I could bring her home.

But those emitters were so unconvincing when used to portray real people...oh, this was so impossible.

I felt another sob surge within me, but I swallowed it back down. I couldn't succumb to that weakness anymore. It was in the past.

The habit of love was so new, already so hard to break. I wished for a moment that I would wake up from this nightmare soon, my limbs tangled in his, bathed in morning sunlight and bad breath, and he'd comfort me, whisper that my dream was a paranoid relic of a time safely lodged in the past.

I pushed it away. This was real. Deal with it now.

I clawed at the skin on my arms and continued to think. I couldn't replace her, no, not right away. Guards. I could use the decoys on her guards, the ones with less authority, less importance, less visibility. I could build an army of freed hosts right before her very eyes. They could act like their Yeerks, perform the same duties once they were free, waiting and biding time until enough of them were under my control.

I felt some kind of calmness start to descend upon me. The sobs stopped pounding. I was breathing in interrupted hiccups, but they were no longer stained with tears and phlegm. I continued to pace.

How would I lead an army of Hork-Bajir? The ones in the valley seemed responsive enough, willing enough to kill Yeerks. But they were slow. Could they pretend to act like their Yeerks? Could they deliver good enough performances?

I would have to lead a battle against my friend with an army of simpletons.

What if it didn't work? Even if I could build an army that way without suspicion, without any leaks in security, could they be organized into an effective force? Fighting wasn't native to Hork-Bajir. They were a species blessed with and cursed by a propensity towards peace. Could I organize them? And if I couldn't, what would be the consequences? What if one of them accidentally killed Terenia, rendering the whole plan pointless?

I didn't want her to die. That was a pain, a failure I wasn't sure I could manage. But the only thing I could do worse than that was to leave her infestation unchallenged. The stakes were high. But it was risk without choice. I had to try.

The emitters I had would not be convincing enough. Even now, in all my delusional fancy, I knew that. I needed better ones. I could go back to Aximili, he was so technical, so good with machines, have him work on—

No. And I didn't have the scientific expertise to improve them. Seerow had worked on them for three decades before—

I remembered, then, a human boy standing before me, and the skeleton of an upright, titanium canine suddenly beneath.

_The Chee._

I remembered his telephone number. I remembered it as clearly as the day I'd heard it. 412-8520.

I morphed to Goshawk with a new resolve and flew into town. It was still dark, still hard to fly, but I didn't fall this time. I didn't think about anything except that number, repeating the digits in my mind.

I landed at a gas station with a pay phone. I morphed to human, still clothed in a tight turtleneck and wool tights. I searched around the parking lot for half an hour before I found a quarter and a dime. One was granted to me by the attendant who was amused by my strange behavior and skin-tight outfit. I dialed the number.

"Who is calling here at this ungodly—"

"Where do you live?" I gasped.

"Who is this?"

I arrived at their house an hour later. Despite the fact it was very late at night, they were fully dressed and alert. It was strange. They were very much like humans, and nothing like them.

In order to uphold the secrecy of the Aldrea's Cube, which was probably pointless now since I'd shown Tobias, I had to demorph, to my Andalite form, once they let my stupid little hawk form in their house.

It was excruciating.

I could feel everything, finally digest the things he had thought with my hand against his face, the things I had seen, the things my human brain was too muddled and foggy to process. He'd imagined cutting me with his tail blade, right through my throat, blood spurting through rubber skin in a strange, fake way, like on television. Simultaneously he imagined making love to me against a hard Earth tree, slamming my head back until blood dripped from my hair. Love and hate, but all of it violent. It disgusted me, but no more than I disgusted him.

His imagination, of course, was much less potent than his memory, strands of each weaving together like the vicious braid that had delivered me here. He compared me to first meeting the Animorphs and learning of his brother's death, that onslaught of denial, grief, rage. He compared me to the Yeerk that had entered his skull, desecrated his mind, almost gotten away. Worst of all, he compared me to a girl whose face was cupped in his hand, a pretty girl whose lips still had the residue of chewed M&M shells, a girl who wasn't me. He wished I was. He wanted Estrid back.

It had been terrible to watch, terrible and lovely, because as shameful as it was, and as hurtful as it had been, I'd wanted to do it for a long time. A couple of rare nights during our affair, when he'd insisted on sleeping as an Andalite with me by his side, I'd considered touching him while he slept, just to sate my undying curiosity. I hadn't.

I hadn't been willing to risk him waking up.

I shook the thoughts from my head as the Chee talked. Their presences were less urgent and potent than organic species, so it was a lot easier to be with them.

"Your plan was brilliantly successful, and we were planning to come meet you sooner, but you see, they've been keeping very close tabs on all Controllers who have managed to survive this far. Because of his consistent failures, Visser Three is terrified of a coup. He thinks any breach in security means someone is going to try to assassinate him. So he's randomly following Controllers, sometimes using spies, sometimes himself in morph. And we certainly didn't want to lead any Yeerks to your scoop, because—"

(The scoop is destroyed,) I said. Very effective human emotions crossed their faces.

"How? Is everyone okay?"

(Aximili and Tobias are fine. They're hiding right now. The Yeerks were looking for me, and they found me,) I said. (But not Visser Three.)

"Who, then?"

(I don't know. Someone shrewder and more dangerous. She's taken my friend from childhood hostage, possibly as a Controller. Probably.)

"There is another Andalite controller?" The Chee imitating an older human male asked. "I thought you'd confirmed Visser Three as the only—"

"There have been whispers," Erek said. "I never bothered to clarify. Recent whispers about more captive Andalites. I don't know anything more."

I don't know why, but the fact that he'd used the plural didn't surprise me. This situation was the variety of terrible that could only get worse. I looked around the poorly-lit house, feeling a minor flare of claustrophobia in the short-ceilinged living room. I closed my eyes and hushed it.

(It is irrelevant,) I said. (She is in trouble and I need to help.)

"Well, help is what we are here for. Any way we can." Erek said.

I explained my plan. The Chee did not seem so optimistic.

(It could work,) I argued.

"Yes, it could work if you were absolutely perfect, which you're not," Erek argued. "Your mistake led to Aximili's infestation, and—"

(And I freed him,) I said. (I have experience with this already.)

"Hork-Bajir are not natural warriors. Without the cruelty of a Yeerk inside their head, they are nearly impossible to incite." the father argued. "You'd be counting on an army that you probably won't be able to lead."

(I can't allow this atrocity to continue,) I said, clenching my fists.

"This atrocity is all around," Erek entreated. "There are tens of thousands of Controllers for you to free here. And you are good at it, so why risk death or infestation to save this one?"

(Because the only obligation we have is to the people we love,) I said. (And if they don't have us, what do they have?)

The Chee looked between each other and sighed, very convincingly.

(I need better holographic emitters,) I concluded.

"All right. We can give you a few."

The lessons were short and simple. They taught me how to tune the emitters to my brain wave activity, and how to produce the holograms telepathically.

The emitters themselves were small. No bigger than the mines I had used to destroy the Yeerk Pool. "These aren't the most powerful ones we have, which explains their size," Erek said. "These batteries will only last fifty years or so. Ours are designed to last centuries."

(Of course,) I said, turning the instruments in supple fingers.

"Now, they are, of course, vulnerable to the same things as ours," he continued. "If they are interrupted by any kind of energy discharge, including Shredder and Dracon fire, they will fail."

(I understand,) I said.

"Why don't you practice?" He said, placing one emitter on the ground.

I should have just conjured an image of myself. Or something I was not emotionally involved with. I realized this even then. Instead, Aximili stood in the other half of the living room, as if he'd instantly teleported from the valley, angry and seeking the retribution he so deserved. I shut my mind off from the emitter and said, (So it works, then.) Aximili still stood there, beautiful and glaring and heartbreaking.

"You'll need to be careful," the Chee said with an air of understanding. "The emitters don't require your constant supervision. Just give the holograms something to do. Make them appear busy and realistic. No performance art or conga lines, you know?" He paused for me to laugh, but I did not indulge him. "Of course, if necessary, they'll follow any direct telepathic order you give." He walked over, touched the emitter to engage it, and turned off the image.

(Thank you.)

"So you're going straight down to Visser Three, then?"

(Yes.)

"They'll infest you once you get down there, you know."


	60. Chapter Twenty Five: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

(I could just program one of these to feign infestation, couldn't I?)

"Jennor, you just blew up the Yeerk Pool. They know who you are. If someone had caught and infested you, they wouldn't be shy enough to let it go unannounced until now."

I turned toward the window, struck with fear that I had not thought of this before. (I still have to go.)

"When they infest you, they'll know everything. You'll be confessing the locations and identities of the Animorphs. And Aximili. Don't you feel any affiliation or love for them?"

Emotion flared in my hearts. It was difficult to think of a rebuttal. (I must do this.)

"This is getting out of hand. You need more time to think this through."

(I will fight the Yeerk that infests me! I will force him from my head!)

I'd been pacing, twitching my tail, and that made me stop suddenly. What had inspired me to say that? I knew then the Chee were right, that I was growing desperate, and desperation is the least dependable quality to help you through torment, but as ration seeped back into my mind, as the temper flare died out and I calmed once again, my complete faith that what I'd said was true did not diminish.

It was a strength I did not know. A certainty I'd never before felt. Almost an outside force, a witness, or a mentor, something both within and separate from me that simply said, _Yes_.

(It is the only roadblock, and I know I can pass it.)

"How do you know?" Erek asked, laughing a little. "You're not a Chee, Jennor. You're not a robot."

I looked up at him for a second, realizing that word could have perfectly described me not a month ago.

(Give me yours.)

"What?"

(You imprison Yeerks in your cranial cavities. Aximili…I've been informed of this. Give me yours.)

"Yes, it is clear you haven't thought this through well enough, so—"

I twitched my tail in frustration, harder than I meant to. The blunt end struck the ceiling, and a small cloud of dust wafted slowly around my head as bits of drywall crumbled on my shoulders.

They stared at me indignantly while I recomposed myself. (Let me speak to him. The Yeerk in your head. Let me do this. I will prove to you that I can overwhelm him.)

The Chee looked at each other. Annoyed. Disappointed. But mildly curious.

"Just let them talk. It can't hurt," the older male Chee said.

Erek sighed. And in a moment, his eyes glazed over. He stood completely still. His hologram flickered and died. He had powered down.

(Please let me out, I promise not to…) the voice trailed for a moment.

(Yeerk,) I said slowly.

(You…Andalite…female?)

(Years of cranial imprisonment have made you less than articulate, but that is irrelevant. I have a proposition.)

(Yes,) the Yeerk said.

(Without even hearing my offer?)

(I may be inarticulate, but I am not stupid. If _the_ female Andalite wishes to give herself over, I will not refuse her.)

Erek clicked back on.

"No," Erek said, shaking his now-human head. "I can't allow it. This is beyond unbelievable. Andalites have their share of overambitious qualities, but this is far more than any of that. This level of delusion can't be encouraged."

(If it doesn't work, starve the Yeerk. You have to power to do that.)

"We can't be violent toward any species, including the Yeerks!"

(Is holding me here in restraints while it starves violent?)

"Not to you, but—"

"Erek," the older male said quietly. "Let her try."

"You agree with her?!"

"If the Yeerk decides not to retreat to your head in the event of Jennor's failure, it is no crime to hold her here while it starves. We are not murderers, but euthanasia is not restricted from our programming. If the Yeerk wants to die, it is not violent to allow it to do so. Our programming allows for that choice. We will encourage it to choose life, but its choice is not up to us. Holding the girl here for the length of its feeding cycle will not contradict our programming."

Aximili had informed me that the Chee's programming included nonviolent restrictions. He had not, however, informed me that these restrictions had various interpretations.

Erek looked furious.

"This is not my decision," he vowed. "If we have to kill this Yeerk because the arrogant female is wrong, just like she will be, then it will be on your conscience."

For a moment, I thought he would refuse us. I thought he would leave. But then, to my surprise, he held his hands up to his ear.

And the pathetic, slimy bead of gray Yeerk emerged.

Once it escaped the prison of his head, Erek handed it to me. It was strange. I should have been more averse to having my greatest enemy in the palm of my hand like that, but while the Yeerk shivered and contracted in my loose grasp, I felt nothing but pity. Hadn't this Yeerk just been caught in the wrong current of the war, much like I had?

I took a deep breath and held the scum up to my ear.

The two gummy grappling tentacles latched onto my lobe and cartilage, and they retracted into the flaccid sac, pulling the Yeerk closer. I felt as the Yeerk found the entrance to my ear and began to squeeze inside.

A deep, congested feeling in my head. With what little concentration I could spare, I noticed Erek's father sneak around my back and vice two awesomely strong and calm hands around my tail. Erek moved in front of me, ready to encage me in case I did something violent.

The Yeerk made contact with my brain. A spark, a jolt that sent a twitch through my spine. I felt as he…no, as _she_ seeped inside, as different parts of me fell under her control.

(I thought my luck had run out, Jennor-Elacable-Barees. I had succumbed to the immutable rules of the universe, but even now, after I'd given up, it still has surprises for me!) The Yeerk said as she wrapped around my brain, inspecting my memories, gaining control of my body.

That is when I attacked.

I'd never been infested before. It was the only punishment that motivated me during the darkest parts of my life, the only thing worse than war and hunger and Trainer. I'd never been able to imagine how to survive through that, how to resist it.

But now that it was happening, I knew exactly what I needed to do to fight back. I could see her, feel her inside of me, read her as effectively as she read me. I knew what scared her. What she couldn't overcome. I knew I had the weapons to defeat her.

And I used them.

It was dark, on that glue planet. So dark and frightening you were certain it was death, certain the ship had crashed and this was the purgatory you had to cross. Trainer stood beside me, wading slowly, sloshing up and down through the mud that crawled up my legs, consumed me. It was cold and slimy, and made me feel like I was leaving little parts of me behind.

Suddenly, a gray hand, comprised of the very mud it emerged from, reached up and grabbed my haunch.

(Ah!) I cried, scraping it away with my tail. The mud came off like wet clay, four fingers still stuck to my flesh.

Another gray hand emerged from the muck, grabbing me around the hither, creeping up my back.

(Trainer! Help!)

He did not hear. Or he did. Yes, he did. He was smiling.

More hands now, forming from muck, stronger than mere dirt could make them. Wrapping fingers around me, pulling me down, flesh made of ash, skeleton made of stone. I scraped them off with my tail blade, drawing my own blood, flailed my legs, but I was too slow. I looked to my right. Two evil yellow eyes, each the size of a softball, opened up in the mud. The only two points of natural light within miles. They were laughing.

The hands kept pulling, Trainer standing feet away, ineffectual and amused.

(This is what disobedient little _arisths _get,) he laughed.

My entire lower body was under, drawn down by more and more hands that gripped and wrapped and pulled. New appendages now, claws and tentacles and pincers grappling into me, pulling me down into the mud, making me a part of the dead earth. My hooves and forelegs dissolved into ash and death as the darkness consumed me. I continued falling, down and down, until it covered my chest, submerged my arms, crawled up my neck, drowned my face, until the only thing that emerged were two stretched stalk eyes, gazing up at the cloudy, dead sky, and always the sound of laughter.

The Yeerk in my head stirred. (What are you doing?) She breathed. I felt her squirming, a throbbing sensation behind my eyes. She moaned. (Take control, Sansot,) she said to herself.

My chest was heaving. It obeyed my commands for breath.

I was standing on a familiar asteroid, one I had fought many battles on. This time I was entirely alone except for the figure standing before me. It was Borrifum, though there was no way to know that, since he had no head. There was only a charred, black stump, oozing clear discharge.

We were alone on the gray expanse, dust drifts sparkling in the light reflected from the overwhelming planet above, sparse rock formations jutting from the otherwise featureless plain. He approached quickly, flinging his blade with precision so great it was he was watching from all around. We fought, but I was still better, and my tail blade sliced through his. I thought it was over, but he laughed, the sound emerging from nowhere, from everywhere. His tail blade was gone, but three more tails emerged from the tip, breaking through the membrane that encased them, each from different Andalites who knew my secret, the terrible truth of my identity. I knew where his head was, then—delivering the news to every Andalite in the galaxy. My people, one by one becoming my enemies. I kept cutting off tail blades, more kept growing, the secret spreading like a disease.

Trainer was standing behind me. But now he was enraged. (This is what slutty little Hermilians get,) he seethed.

Borrifum kept coming, and I was backing up into Trainer, who had suddenly turned into a living vortex, sucking the fur and blood from my body. I took a step forward, but two tails sliced off both of my arms. I couldn't scream. Trainer had taken my voice.

It was dark, I was wheezing, I was flailing. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. Where I was. Two soft, supernaturally strong human arms were supporting my upper body, while my legs flailed and slipped on the cheap, polyester carpet. And there were voices, too fast to distinguish, but soon—

"It doesn't mean anything, that Yeerk had been sapped of all willpower and drive, it was an unrepresentative flaw—"

"You can't even acknowledge that she's just done the _impossible_?"

"I was here, wasn't I? But I still can't support her going down there and—"

(What happened?) I asked, raising a hand to my throbbing head, stumbling and slipping on my hooves.

"That," Erek said, referring down to a slimy, six-inch corpse on the ground.

(It…died? I killed it?)

"Yes, and we'd both like to know how you did it."

(I…) My stalk eyes flopped and I recovered them. (I don't know.)

The Chee looked at each other for a long time as I continued to find my footing, keeping a hand on the back of their couch for support. Erek was grim and serious. But his father looked elated.

"It's a solid plan, Erek. If it can be replicated. It's risky, yes, but the ambitious ones always are. I hate to say it, but perhaps we should just…have faith."

"Faith? One event of such infinitesimal probability and you claim higher power? You've gone fully human, old friend."

But Erek moved his gaze to me, and softened a little. "Infinitesimal that it should happen once. Completely impossible to happen twice. But who am I to refuse you the opportunity to try?"

They gave me the emitters, after a few more minutes of idle, paranoid prognostications. They said they would tell the Animorphs of my plan. And they said if my plan ended in the Animorphs' capture, they would blame me, and make sure the Andalites were informed of my failure.

As much as it scared me, I accepted the terms.

I morphed to human and placed the emitters beneath my tongue. I thanked the Chee and left out their backdoor. Despite how life-altering and painful my day had been, I left with a little smile.

Once I was sufficiently far away, I morphed to Goshawk to retrieve my Shredder and holster.

I wouldn't descend into the Yeerk Pool unarmed. I had my pride, after all. I thought it would be more realistic this way. More ironic. I was armed, even without my gun. More than they would ever know.

So I descended the stairs that started in the Gap, the stairs I knew so well, for the first time in my Andalite form, with my Shredder strapped to my waist, with anger and fear and hate and regret in my hearts, and I waited to be captured.

It didn't take long.

By the fifth stair, two Hork-Bajir came into view. They did not seem terrifying like they usually did. They were a relief. They laughed when I came into view.

(I surrender,) I told them.

"We know."

They approached slowly, and though I expected them to spring upon me when in range, they stayed methodical and careful. They removed my holster and Shredder as soon as I met them. One of them wrapped his arms around my tail, holding his wrist blade at the base, as he curled it into my body and wrapped energy binds around it. I allowed them to do so without resistance.

They led me down the stairs, both holding Dracon Beams against two of my hearts. They nicked with their feet and nudged with their knees so that by the time we reached the bottom, blood had already started running off my hooves.

When we reached the pool, Visser Three was waiting.

He didn't say anything as I approached, just stared with a sort of distant interest, like I was someone he may have recognized from long ago. That only hid the rampant glee I could clearly read in his mind. The Hork-Bajir kept their pace slow and tempered, still prepared for me to launch and resist. I thought appearing obedient and resolved would give them an impression of trust and defeat. It didn't. They were more careful than ever.

The Visser walked up to me slowly as the Hork-Bajir held my arms pointlessly behind my back. He moved his face inches from mine, tail blade hung above my head like a guillotine.

(You blew up my pool,) he finally said. (I didn't appreciate that very much.)

(I suspect not,) I answered.

(History will name me the conqueror of the great Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) he sighed, smiling, pulling away, turning around. (But it will be written a much more climactic tale.)

I raised my eyebrows, surprised that he was treating me with dignity, uncertain of what that might mean.

(Infest her. Gather all information about the bandits that you can. She knows them. She knows everything, and I want to know all she does.)

The Hork-Bajir finally unleashed their force and dragged me over to the Pool. I squirmed with childish aversion as they lifted me clear off the ground and tilted me like a lever, ear against the warm, heavy surface of the pool, but I relaxed with a strange sense of confidence and calm. The grapplers latched onto my ear, and I did not care. I felt the pressure as he squeezed his way into the narrow opening, and I did not squirm. It hurt, but it did not scare me. I let him into my head. I let him infest me.


	61. Chapter Twenty Five: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

And then I repeated the impossible.

My face was on the infestation pier. There was a Hork-Bajir hand by my eyes, poking and prodding a large wad of chewed gum next to my ear.

(What happened?) Visser Three demanded. He stomped around the pool, marched up the pier, hooves striking the woven metal with satisfying clanks that reverberated through my prostrate body, and bent over to inspect the dead Yeerk.

"I don't know," the Hork-Bajir admitted.

(Lift her up!) The Visser shrieked.

The Hork-Bajir dug his hands beneath my arms and lifted me to my hooves. I was still breathing hard, still a little shaky, but I was in control. I glared at the Visser.

(Your Yeerks cannot handle me,) I taunted. (I was too much for him.)

(Infest her again!) He yelled, twitching his tail high in the air.

They did. Another Yeerk entered my head, reliving nightmares, memories, heartbreaks. It took less time with this third one. I was getting better at it.

(Again!) The Visser yelled. They tried again. This one barely consumed my brain before tumbling out of my ear and sticking to my clavicle.

They tried seven more times.

When they were finished, the Visser looked at me with fear. (What are you?) He asked.

"Sir, I think I may be able to offer an explanation,"

(I very sincerely hope it is not an explanation that could have been offered ten minutes ago,) the Visser seethed.

The Hork-Bajir gulped. "I have worked infestation pier duty for a long time, and I recall a handful of humans as being uninfestable. A similar…series of events took place."

(I don't recall anything like that.)

"You ordered them executed."

(Ah,) the Visser said, closing his main eyes and turning from me, like he was remembering a particularly pleasant memory. (I remember.)

He began walking away, towards his quarters, up the stairs at the top of the underground chamber.

"What should we—"

(Incapacitate her. We'll deliver her immediately.) He continued walking, but then stopped. (Beat her relentlessly first. I don't want to give the impression that this will be rewarded in the future.)

The Hork-Bajir hit me harder than necessary in the head and I blacked out.

When I woke up, something was dragging me across smooth Andalite grass, the Andalite sky shimmering overhead.

_He killed me,_ I thought. _Is this heaven?_

My back and neck throbbed, a stabbing pain when I tried to move them. A similar sharp pain cracked through one of my arms and legs. They were broken. I could feel my pulse in my ear drums, one of my main eyes was blind. I tried to breathe, only to feel a sharp, antagonistic refusal in my diaphragm.

No. I was not dead.

I looked to my right and left. A Hork-Bajir had my tail over his shoulder, like I was a sled he was dragging through the snow.

A spike of terror accompanied delusional hope that this was all a bad dream. What were Hork-Bajir doing on Andal? I looked around some more, seeing doorways merging with the long, tubal Andalite sky. I was not on Andal.

I was on a Dome Ship.

Fear foamed up within me. The Hork-Bajir dropped me, noticed I was conscious, and quickly rebound my tail against my body. He stood in front of a door in the middle of the endless hallway.

My stalk eyes zipped around, looking past the Hork-Bajir, down the hallway. There were Hork-Bajir, yes, but there were also Andalites.

This could not be real. But they were all around, in all of the rooms, in my head...silent yet present, desperate and caged.

The Chee had been right.

Andalites themselves were no longer safe.

The Yeerks had succeeded in acquiring an Andalite vessel, had obtained Andalite hosts. I could only imagine the secrets they knew, the advantage they'd gained. This was it, wasn't it? Wasn't Andalite autonomy the only real thing keeping us alive in the war? Now they knew our secrets, now they'd infected our sovereignty…Didn't this mean that we'd lost, that the war was over?

Terror and guilt surged through me. This wasn't just about Terenia anymore. The stakes had been raised considerably.

The door opened.

I was shoved up right against Visser Three's hind leg and he blocked my view. Surges kept pounding through me. In an instant, the Hork-Bajir dragged me inside.

I was almost too afraid, but I looked. My main eye was blurred and imperfect, but fuzzy outlines were apparent. I turned my stalk eyes to the people standing within the room. Visser Three, looking nervous. Another male Andalite, tall and handsome, with pretty brown eyes, who seemed not quite happy but more than content. And a female. Five or six cycles old. Nothing Andalite about her except her appearance.

Terenia.

I watched her for a long time before saying anything. I remembered the way she had stroked my stalk eyes, the way she had been too ignorant to judge my hands. The way she loved me, more than because she had to. I felt warmth within me, tenderness I did not expect or desire, because I had meant for this to be a cold, detached rescue mission.

(Terenia,) I breathed, the word foreign and fantastic and horrifying in my mind, (Keep fighting, my sister. Don't you dare give up yet.)

(It is wonderful to finally meet you in person, Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) her voice replied, warped with evil.

My tail was strapped to my body, and my legs were strapped together like some sort of game animal ready to be roasted, but I kept still and watched her carefully, tried to remain emotionless. She could not know my plan, though she succeeded quite quickly in acquiring uncontrolled reactions from me.

Especially when she mentioned that it had not been Trainer on Earth. She knew what he looked like. If Aximili was dead, she wouldn't have bothered keeping it a secret from me.

Aximili was still safe. At least for now.

I was not the only one who gave uncontrolled reactions, however. And her look of shock when Terenia said "she's sleeping with…" what did that mean? And what was this cumbersome weight supported between her and the man she called "Nagrit?" It was a weight I recognized, but no, surely no Yeerk could be capable of—

Someone new entered the room. An Andalite. I only got a glance of him, but it was an unhelpful glance. He was uninfested. He was a stranger, yet familiar somehow. Desperately familiar. Like something plucked from one of my dreams, something both remote and intrinsic. I saw that he was thin, like a broken mustang: obedient, hungry, defeated. Brokenhearted. I imagined what she had done to him. I imagined what she was going to do to me.

I began to feel some kind of pressure closing in on either side of my head, and I didn't understand the cause. Such familiarity all around. Something terrible was about to happen, some imminent disaster was closing my head in its grasp, wrapping its evil around me. I gazed up at her through unfocused eyes. Crazed glee.

(I have to hurt you,) the familiar stranger, a doctor the Empress had invited inside, said.

(Yes,) I replied.

(I'm sorry, but it's necessary to protect my—)

(Sub-Visser 11 is summoned to the Empress' quarters,) Terenia's voice chimed suddenly.

And there, standing in the doorway, miles above me, right there and nowhere near, was Father.

My heart stopped pounding, the pressure around my head clenched tight, and I understood everything. I'd never been able to read him. He'd always managed to close his thoughts off from me, but that didn't cancel the distinguishable flavor of his personality, the strange sadness and remoteness he exuded. I'd felt him outside the door. I'd felt him on the ship, like two magnets trembling toward each other on a desktop. I'd recognized it, but it had been so long that I'd forgotten exactly what it meant.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, I could only stare at the fragile, elderly figure standing before me. It was like nothing had changed, and everything had. He'd aged more than he should have. He wasn't even a century old, yet it looked like a stiff breeze would disintegrate him. His face was like sandstone, the scar a debilitating pressure crack. His eyes were wide, his posture was stiff, disbelief and fury radiating off him like poison gas.

(You're infested,) I said to him privately.

The shock broke and snapped back, striking me into panic. I tried to get away from the door, tried to run from the horrible truth unleashed before me. How had she found him? How could this be real? Why was she doing this to me?

He walked toward me, now even more terrifying and monolithic. His eyes had set, his Yeerk had gained control, he was gone from my sight, and yet, he was still there, still searching, still screaming. I swore I could hear him silently begging, but maybe that was only what I longed for. I was delusional. I couldn't be here. It couldn't be real.

I felt fingertips on my back, and looked behind me to see the doctor, searching for pressure points. I'd forgotten about him. His presence had been entirely overshadowed.

(This is really going to hurt,) he warned me.

(How could it possibly be any worse!?) I cried to him, desperately, privately. There was only a cold, medical accuracy in his touch, but I longed for so much more from that person hovering inches above me and lightyears away. The doctor pinpointed a place on my back that took my breath away even in his weak grasp, not only from the pain, but from the soured memories it induced.

My father had a Dracon Beam. He gazed down at me, and we were the only two people in the room, the only two people in the universe. He gazed down at me and put his fingers on the power dial. He turned it up.

(Fire,) I heard the voice of god deliver my sentence.

He pressed the Dracon Beam against my back and obeyed.

Fire shot through my bones, bursting them apart, sending shards and shrapnel into every nerve in my back. The surge traveled, branching out like shattering glass, down my spine, up my arms, across my chest. I screamed, the pain was unbearable and flowing, unforgiving, overpowering. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and by the time it began to pass, I didn't even know where I was or how I had gotten there, but like any burn, as soon as it began to pass, blood brought new pain: blistering, screaming, pus-filled pain.

There was no time to recover before I heard the word: (Again.)

A new fire, a new detonation, he was shredding the sovereignty of my entire body! Thatched roofs on fire, women and children consumed by flames, electricity, and water. Friends, kind allies dead on the battlefield, blood pulsing from such obviously lethal wounds, tears and begging and so much fear. Everything continued to surge now, twice as powerful, four times as powerful, multiplying and relentless, as the first wound continued to accelerate, the second not far behind.

The doctor grasped a new section of skin.

(Again!)

The pain grew so intense that I forgot my name, my species, every care and worry in the world. My entire existence was that pain, my entire nervous system and brain and hearts were all devoted exclusively. I smelled flesh burning, tasted blood and heat in my nostrils. Tears flowed freely through my eyes and I couldn't even feel them. And my Father kept obeying her orders.

(Clean up this mess,) I heard after an infinity of pain, and sometime later I was somewhere new, moaning and crying without words, like an insect or a tree.

(I'm so sorry,) I heard, and realized I had heard it before, perhaps thousands of times. (I'm so sorry, but you need to keep screaming if you want my help, for Elder's sake girl, just keep crying.)

"Put her in cell number—"

(Do you _want_ her to keep moaning like this? You let me obtain these medical supplies to shut her up, so let me use them. Then you can separate us.)

"But the Empress—"

(Gave you no orders. And unless you want to hear incessant whining and blubbering for the rest of your shift…)

There was a pause and a snort. "Just be quick, Andalite scum."

I don't know when I came to my senses, what he had to do to me to snap me out of it. The image of those hard eyes and that powerful scar stared at me from inside my eyelids. But then I looked up at the doctor, light from above impaired my vision. He was rubbing some kind of salve in all of my injuries. Temporary splashes of relief on individual wounds, but he was as useless as a helicopter carrying a bucket of seawater over a forest fire. It was helping, but fire still surged. (Good, keep crying, I'm so sorry, keep screaming, I'm so sorry.)

(Stop apologizing, I forgive you,) I said.

My eyes swept around the room, and I saw three vague Hork-Bajir standing behind a force field with their Dracon Beams trained on me. They seemed restless, or unsure of what to do. I was lying on the grass. We were in the brig.

(I hurt you so badly,) He whispered, pressing fingertips wet with salve gently against my neck. (This is unforgivable.)

"Hurry up, Andalite," one of the Hork-Bajir growled.

(You were protecting someone,) I remembered vaguely.

I turned a stalk eye up to him. Everything was swirling, the room was spinning, my vision slipped in and out of focus, but there he was, comforting and dependable. I didn't know why or how, but I trusted him suddenly and deeply, perhaps only from desperate need.

(My wife,) he sighed. (That scum said she would kill her. Morph some massive beast and eat her alive, just like…) He buried himself in his work, but his stalk eyes leered at the Hork-Bajir.

(How could she do that, she can't morph, she's just a human girl…) I breathed, focused more on the pain than my words. (She is scum. She is vicious. She'll do something even worse than that. You made the right choice.)

He paused for a moment and stared at me, thoughts churning from confusion to decision. Then he shook his head. (No, no, I surrendered something too great, hurting strangers in exchange for family,) he whispered, pulling a cooling bandage over another wound. The pain kept retreating as he worked. (How can you forgive me for what I've done?)

(Because you love your wife. You don't know me. I'm no one.) The fires were dying. I could feel air in my lungs again.

(You're not no one. You're very clearly someone.)

(But you don't know me,) I argued feebly, moving my fingers. (You don't…)

(What is your name?) He asked.

(Jennor,) I said, still too confused to give a formal introduction.

(My name is Noorlin-Sirinial-Cooraf,) he said. I felt another spike of panic but I was too tired to follow it. (Now I know you. If you have sense enough, you should morph. I can't mollify all of the pain. Resources are limited so morphing is forgivable.) He was reciting from the field medic handbook now, a phrase I'd heard before. He turned to the Hork-Bajir. (She's morphing, but only to a form you'll fear less than this,) He said, mostly to me.

(Yes,) I agreed.

"You know we can't let you morph!"

(Are the orders to restrict our morphing applicable to this girl as well?)

"I don't know, I would assume that—"

(Well, if you won't tell the Empress, I won't either. It _will_ get me out of this cell faster, which you seem rather desperate to do.)

The Hork-Bajir was getting impatient. But he huffed. "A form we'll fear less, correct?"

I morphed. The whole time, I could not stop picturing my Father, that strange weakness, the Yeerk's resolve. It was a wonder I could morph at all with that image so permanently etched into my mind. But I managed, retreating to human form, melting to that thick skin covered in tight fibers, swishing my tongue to feel the precious little Chee treasures inside my mouth.

(You may demorph when you are ready,) the doctor said as the Hork-Bajir moved curiously toward our cell, making sure we held up our end of the bargain.

"Yes, I—"

I looked up at him, close to understanding the familiarity and trust. His face was like from a nightmare, something familiar stretched or warped to make it foreign and terrifying. I looked up at him and saw Aximili, except he was about forty years older.

He had the same features, the same sharp facial structure, the same shoulders. I saw the same angular determination shrouding well-hidden sympathy and kindness. He had the same sharp, bright eyes, the same intelligent gaze, the same trustworthy softness behind that hard military shell. I had to blink a few times just to make sure it wasn't him, but it wasn't, and I knew who it was.

I was looking at Aximili's father.


	62. Chapter Twenty Five: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

(What is it?) He asked.

I collapsed. I couldn't move. I couldn't even avert my gaze. I only stared, and shook my head, and started to cry.

(Are you suffocating? Can that species survive on this ship?) Now it was so clear. They even sounded alike.

I could barely distinguish the words, barely look past that alien, familiar face, but I noticed the Hork-Bajir had opened the force field. They were going to put me into a different cell. And as much as I wanted to flee this horrible new reality, I knew I couldn't.

I wasn't finished with Noorlin just yet.

"No," I sobbed after far too long a pause. "I am suffocating! I believe I am suffering internal injuries." I clutched my stomach and doubled over, not entirely acting. He gazed at me curiously for a moment before his translator kicked in.

(Oh…in that case, I'll need a few more moments with my patient,) he told the Hork-Bajir.

"But you said—"

(Your Empress has left this prisoner in your care. Would you like to be the one to tell her that you allowed her to perish?)

The Hork-Bajir glared and reengaged the force field.

I got up, gasping, playing the part, and reeled to the other end of the cell. I buried my face in my hands, allowing myself to fully grieve. It was like the various flailing strands of my life had all been sucked into some inexplicable, malicious vortex. Why couldn't it have just been a Yeerk ship like I had planned, with Hork-Bajir hosts, maybe some humans if I was lucky, and the single, Andalite figure who was my only goal? How could I be responsible for all of this collateral?

This could not have been easy. My plan could not have been formulated precisely. I had been a fool to think nothing this unexpected would happen.

The Hork-Bajir whispered among themselves, and one of them nodded, finally leaving to request further instructions from their commander. Noorlin sighed, watching him leave.

"When he gets back, she's going in that other cell whether you're finished or not. If she dies, it's your fault, not ours."

(Very well, Yeerk,) Noorlin said, inspecting me with his thin fingers, upholding the charade.

Terenia, infested. My father, infested. Aximili's father...

"You're not infested," I said. The remaining two Hork-Bajir stiffened at this.

(Neither are you.)

I continued to stand for a while, crouching and wrapping my goosebumped flesh up in my arms. I turned into the wall and dipped my finger and thumb inside my mouth quickly, making it look like I was dry-heaving. I pulled a few of the holographic emitters free. I inhaled deeply and demorphed, curling both of my hands into fists to conceal the devices. The doctor watched me, and I approached him, consumed with both of our thoughts. I didn't want to read him, but his impatience, hope, and despair were all clear in his mind now that I was healed, clouds over memories of his son that I could stab him to get to, I was so desperate. I shook off the compulsion and watched the Hork-Bajir carefully. They were growling, still uncertain, clearly subordinate to the one who left, waiting for their colleague to return.

"So she's—"

(Morphing only heals surface injuries. She has internal bleeding I still need to attend to.) His face revealed how terrible he thought the lie was, but the Hork-Bajir were tired of contradicting him.

"Gariss will be back in two minutes. I'd rather not contradict any of my superiors. Let him take the fall." One whispered to his companion. The other shrugged, stretched, and nodded.

I wobbled again, cradled my head in my hands, stumbled to my knees. Noorlin kept idly inspecting me to keep them convinced.

(What happened here?) I asked.

(The impossible,) he sighed. (She's won.)

(Don't say that,) I said. (She's entered into a game she cannot win.)

(Denying the truth doesn't make it any less true,) he huffed.

(How did it happen?) I asked.

(They snuck up on us,) he seethed. (They cheated, like cowards. We weren't even a military mission!)

(Then what are you?)

He sighed for a moment, wiping the residue of salve onto my shoulder, an act my body unfortunately read as intimate. (A group of people who've lost things they're sick of being without,) he said. (The man that shot you...he knew you. You were what he was looking for.)

I felt a surge of heat in my face but managed to blink it away. I didn't believe it. He'd refused me once, and Father was not a man who wavered once he'd made up his mind. I knew she'd found him and brought him here just to torment me. Just like she'd done with Terenia. Their suffering was entirely my fault.

(And what about you?) I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

He didn't respond. I watched him for a while, the way his head dipped, his stalk eyes drooped, the way he rubbed the back of his neck just like his son. I felt a swell of pity and sadness in my heart, some terrible mix of sympathy for his pain and my own.

I stiffened my neck and quieted my mind. It took every shred of strength not to obsess over the thoughts and feelings, to let them hit me and deflect right off, to keep quiet enough so my song was silent.

I had a decision to make then. I could tell him everything, I could tell him that I knew his son, that he was alive, that I loved him. He would ask me where Aximili was, if we loved each other why wasn't he here with me? I would say that I told Aximili to stay behind because I feared for him, and Noorlin would know his son well enough to realize Aximili would never obey, and I would have to eventually admit that I'd broken his heart, that I was a Hermilian, and that because of it, he was a failure on so many levels.

I could do all that. Or, I could lie.

(What were you looking for?) I prodded.

(I helped organize this mission. Many parents lost sons to distant battles. The bereaved are easy to inspire, but difficult to organize. It took time. But they all came together from the power of my son's memory. War-Prince Elfangor was my son, Jennor. And we seek to reunite families because mine was torn asunder.)

(And there is no one you're looking for?) I pressed. I regretted the question the instant I'd uttered it, but I needed him to tell me. I needed to hear it from him.

He turned away, keeping his face emotionless. I realized right then that Aximili's bitterness was not all overblown. Noorlin couldn't even mention the existence of his younger offspring. And I could hear his resentment, the disappointment that he'd sacrificed all of this for the son he cared for less, but there was something conflicting there too, a tenacity, warmth, and resolve, silent but—

It was gone. We looked away in silence for a while. I felt rage and empathy on Aximili's behalf, but knew that I needed this man as an ally more than anything. It was a strange gift of fortune that he was uninfested, that he would be my ally through this ordeal. But an ally was all he could be. I could not afford to tell him the truth. If he knew my prejudice against him, and if he knew how fundamental a failure Aximili's association with me was...

It would be a more efficient partnership as strangers.

(We can reclaim this ship,) I said after a while.

(How?)

(I have a plan.)

He laughed so loud even the Hork-Bajir heard, and they growled, still seething with impatience and impotence. Then he returned to private thought-speech, closing his hand around my arm to get a vague reading of my blood pressure. (That is why you came, then? I was sure she had just captured you for her sick amusement, but you came here willingly. To save this ship, with a clever little plan from your watery little planet. Do you think we haven't been trying? Do you think we haven't been doing everything in our power to reclaim this vessel? What could you possibly have that we don't?)

(This,) I said, falling into the force field, pointed away from the Hork-Bajir, opening my fist in front of my chest, imagining a tiny recreation of Andal in the palm of my hand.

(Put it away,) Noorlin said, showing only a moment of surprise before regaining composure. (Holograms aren't going to save us.)

(Have your plans been better?) I asked.

(What will you do, then? Recapture Yeerks and replace their disabled hosts with holograms while they starve?)

(Eventually. But first, I need your help.)

He laughed again, more quietly this time. (If you think me an ally, stop now. I am a prisoner of war, and I have someone to protect.)

(No, you have someone to rescue. And you only lied to the Hork-Bajir to stay here because you had some hope that I could help. Some things are worth risking your life for, Noorlin. Is your wife not worth that sacrifice?)

He stared at me for a long time. His face was grave and angry, but slowly softened into a smile.

(You must have had much success on Earth. Who were you affiliated with?) He asked in a soft, sincere voice, a voice that conveyed great trust and vulnerability. My throat clenched again.

(I was on Earth by myself.)

Noorlin nodded and turned away. It elated me to see that he was so affected, and broke my heart that I'd been the one to cause it. I'd dashed more hope than I thought I would. (I don't know that I can help you, Jennor. I don't know that I'd be any good to you.)

(Noorlin, I—)

(Just tell me what you're thinking. We'll decide from there.)

I explained my plan. I thought it would be best to split up the emitters immediately. If the Empress was wise, she would limit our interaction since neither of us was infested, since we at least had some degree of free will aboard her vessel. Noorlin seemed uncertain that he could subdue an Andalite Controller.

This disappointed me. I felt another wave of hopelessness, but then Noorlin said, (What about all of the Hork-Bajir?)

(I don't know, what about them?)

(They'd be easier to overcome in this environment. But they still—)

(Why would they be easier to overcome?)

(The temperature is perfect for them, but it's much moister than this on their homeworld. I've noticed many with nosebleeds.)

(You think nosebleeds will sufficiently slow Hork-Bajir?) I asked.

(Not nosebleeds alone,) he sighed. (It would take more than nosebleeds.)

(And you can do something about that?)

(I took an oath, long ago, Jennor. An oath to assist any patient that required my care.) I turned away in frustration. (However, I also took an oath when I joined the military, and that was to follow the orders of the Electorate, and if orders are unavailable, to act in the spirit of the current political climate. As you can guess, these oaths are currently conflicting.)

(So which will you obey?)

Noorlin didn't say anything for a long time. He watched the Hork-Bajir who growled back and avoided eye contact with me. I felt a growing despair in my chest as I gauged his mood, his resolve to protect his wife, the strength of promises he'd already made and the likelihood helping me would break them.

(Give me the emitters.)

I happily did as the Chee had instructed, tuning the emitter to Noorlin's brain activity. It was difficult with two Hork-Bajir watching our every move, but limited practice allowed me to create a hologram of the two of us rather seamlessly. I watched the shroud that hid us from them, watched how the Hork-Bajir would growl when the fake Noorlin made too aggressive a gesture, when he changed position too quickly. On our side, I allowed Noorlin to practice a little, and he conjured a small portrait of his family behind our holographic curtain. Elfangor was so much more imposing than Aximili in his memory. He shut down the hologram soon from embarrassment. I didn't say anything.

I didn't know what he planned to do with them, but I wasn't alone anymore. Responsibility had been diffused, and tension went with it. I felt too great a surge of undeserved confidence.

Shortly after, the Empress came back. Noorlin and I scrambled to imitate the hologram and I disengaged it just as she stepped inside. She seemed flushed and glowing. A flush and glow I recognized. She watched me with Terenia's eyes, Terenia's arms tucked comfortably behind her back. The messenger Hork-Bajir flanked her left, joined quickly by the ones that had been guarding us all this time.

She watched me for a long time without saying anything, eyes passing slowly over every inch of flesh, a strange fascination and hunger there. Then she smiled. The force field flickered and disappeared. One of the Hork-Bajir lunged forward and roughly dragged Noorlin away while the others shoved their Dracon beams into either side of my jaw.

(What have you been discussing with the good doctor, Jennor?) She asked.

I rose to my hooves, tried to stand straight, tried to hold my tail high. Stared into her sparkling, self-satisfied eyes. Yes, that was a look I recognized. One I already missed.

But who? Who could she possibly trust with that sort of intimacy? It would have to be someone close, someone subordinate, someone beautiful and handsome and—

Despite everything, I smiled a little. I felt bad for Terenia. I felt the dark pit of sympathy that my imagination could not upgrade to empathy for her years-long plight. But something told me she had a part in picking the actor to play that role.

(I have been consoling the doctor in exchange for his healing hand,) I said. (He misses his wife terribly. We both wish we could be with our loved ones. I suppose we're a little heartsick.)

I strained every brain cell, every iota of focus to read her reaction. Yes, I had a theory. A theory that would sacrifice a lot of planning and manpower if I was wrong. But a theory, that if correct, could be her one weakness. The one thing I could exploit to destroy her.

And I listened. And through Terenia's skull, through Terenia's trembling, silent resistance, I heard a single whisper of an unintended response.

Empathy.

Yes. She was in love with her assistant. And, worse yet, I could tell he loved her back.

She bent her stalk eye into a narrow, challenging smile. (Why are you here?) She asked.

I straightened my spine, conjuring every last shred of courage in this hopeless situation. Fear crawled up my back, but I had to say something. (Because you have Terenia, and because you must die.)

She narrowed her eyes, still smiling.

(You stand before me, unfettered and healthy. Why don't you kill me now?)

(I won't let you force me to murder my best friend.)

(Yes,) she sighed, shoulders rising, arrogant satisfaction in her eyes. (That is why you Andalites will lose. Violence must always be perfect, or else it is worthless.)

She turned a stalk eye to a Hork-Bajir, who handed her a small syringe.

(It is amazing what advanced technologies like yours can do,) she began, flicking the syringe and tapping out the air bubbles, sending jets of blue fluid into the air. (In primitive cultures, horror floats invisible in the dark: random, unrestrained, diluted. Technology compacts it into small, powerful, concentrated forms. Why a race that considers itself so righteous and morally pure would even create such a poison is quite a fun mystery for me.)

She handed it back to the Hork-Bajir, who walked over and jabbed the needle into my upper arm. I tried not to flinch, but he hit a nerve and I felt the tendons in my neck go taut.

(I'll see you tomorrow morning.)

The Hork-Bajir punched the force field, leaving me isolated. Its constant hum accompanied my rapidly deteriorating condition. I was not sure what she'd injected me with, but quick shivers and muscle tremors began to race through me within hours. What was this? _Yamphut?_ But if it was merely a disease, I could just morph it away. Couldn't I?

I tried, but found my strength entirely sapped.

The fake sky overhead darkened as I collapsed to the ground, shivers rumbling through me, sweat cascading off, lungs heaving air so heavy it felt like liquid. The last thought I had before madness and pain consumed me was that perhaps time would permit Noorlin to plant the first seeds of resistance among a people who desperately needed them, a people who would be exterminated if he failed, a people whose failure would extinguish all the hope in the galaxy if they could not be kindled.


	63. Chapter Twenty Six: Terenia

Chapter Twenty-Six

Terenia

PART ONE OF THREE

The only sound in her head anymore was sobbing. Like a constant humming, it became so distant and impersonal that I had to remind myself it was me. I'd started days ago and I hadn't been able to stop.

I'd seen Taxxons unshelled like lobsters and boiled alive, Hork-Bajir skinned and tied in self-mutilating knots, even a handful of humans tortured beyond recognition. But none of that was my fault. My hands performed the acts, but I didn't commit them.

Jennor was my fault.

Throughout my entire enslavement, nothing had hurt me as much as seeing that mature Andalite girl, still frosted with the insecurity and vulnerability she'd borne as a child, tortured and defeated. I had done this to her. If not for me, Jennor would still be safe on my home planet, maybe with a guy that she loved. If not for me, Terliss would still be frustrated and beatable. But now she was calm. Now she was invincible. I didn't know how to keep fighting her anymore.

I'd forgotten how good she was at torture. I mean, I witnessed it on a daily basis, but somehow I figured Jennor would be stronger than all of that. I guess I needed her to be. But Terliss had talents that could penetrate even the strongest heroes of my rescue fantasies. It had been so fast, so irresistible, so efficient. Efficiency was her ultimate goal, after all. Prescribe the pain, leech all hope, make sure the uninfestables are acquainted through mistrust and submission. Then really attack. Use her father, the man she probably never really left, and have him hurt her worse than he ever had before. Anyone would crumple. Anyone would submit. But witnessing how totally Jennor was defeated, how fast she'd been cut down... I couldn't give up all hope, but what was left?

A heralding chirp from the speakers snapped me out of my pathetic self-pity, indicating the conference call was about to start. We were on the Pool Ship, preparing for a biweekly meeting with the Council. Terliss hadn't quite told them about Jennor yet. She was worried about something.

The flat, digitized images of the Council shimmered into view, and this time, they exchanged no pointless introductory pleasantries.

"So, then? Update us on your current status."

Sessil spoke clearly, loudly. To an untrained ear, he sounded fine. Just as smug and self-assured as ever. But I could detect the hint of uncertainty in his voice. It made Terliss smile. Once, not long ago, he'd been confident and manipulative, a real threat. But she'd succeeded once before at his insurmountable challenge, and now Jennor, the girl that was supposed to elude her forever, who had already succeeded for almost 20 years, might be hers. This was a question he'd been waiting to ask for a very long time, and one that might demand a politically harmful answer.

(I have apprehended and subdued the Andalite Jennor-Elacable-Barees,) Terliss responded.

Whooping and applause exploded among the red, poor holographic figures of the Council. The human was still a little bit smug. He allowed the noise to die naturally, so his voice would be heard echoing in the brittle reality of destroyed victory.

"Subdue? What does 'subdue' mean? She isn't dead yet?"

One of her stalk eyes turned back to Nagrit. His eyes widened a little as if to say, "go ahead." She couldn't lie. The best she could do was twist the truth.

(I have not finished interrogating her yet,) Terliss responded. (Her resolve is weakening, which is beneficial—)

"Who cares about her resolve?" Persett 342 croaked through his translator. "Finish the deed! Exterminate this threat to our great Empire!"

I felt her go a little pale. (Do you question my tactic? Since when have my practices when dealing with specific prisoners ever been under the Council's jurisdiction?)

"It would be unwise for you to allow her to survive for much longer," Garoff 315, an ally, said slowly. "Alive, she is a threat. Dead, the most she can be is a symbol. Symbols can do nothing on their own."

(Neither can she,) Terliss responded. (She's locked in the brig right now, poisoned. She will be dead soon.)

"She better be," Sessil threatened, smiling a little. There was a challenging pause, until Krister broke it.

"What is the status of the decryption process?"

(We have unlocked neither navigational controls nor most classified intel files. We've managed to gain a stable orbit around Saturn, but without Z-Space navigation, we can't go any faster than a few hundred thousand kilometers per hour. An unforeseen complication of the computer lockdown. We have unlocked weapons, but they're useless without anything to shoot at. The pool is…coming along.)

Another twist of truth. Those Earth supports that Krineck had imported hadn't sufficed as well as he thought they would. Two had already failed, snapped almost perfectly in half. The pool was already weeks behind schedule and we'd only started about nine days ago. Terliss had threatened to execute Krineck if it happened again, even though she knew it wasn't his fault. And she also knew she'd have to follow through on it, because another support was guaranteed to fail. Andalites, especially extremely outnumbered Andalites already desperate enough to resort to sabotage, wouldn't consider a Taxxon's grisly death collateral worth altering strategy.

She'd have to confine them to the brig. But not before sending a very potent message to her replacement engineer.

(There's not much we can do, besides the pool. It seems the only Andalites on the vessel with knowledge of the decryption code were the Captain and T.O., and they both committed suicide in the initial assault.)

"This is nothing we haven't heard before," Seert spat.

(Nothing has changed,) Terliss admitted. (I am slowly gathering intel from the hosts I do have, but most of them aren't even affiliated with the military. Their specific knowledge of their fields is helping. We're slowly unlocking Escafil technology, though it seems the one device they had on board was contained in the Bridge and destroyed. We've already improved Dracon efficiency 32%. Scanning equipment on our Bug Fighters and Pool ship has been calibrated to the latest Andalite cloaking technology. I'll send over the latest specs as soon as they come in.)

"We wait patiently," Krister said. "This technology is more immediately helpful to us than anything else you're working on."

(I will not disappoint,) Terliss promised with a smile. (And I will kill Jennor myself.)

The Council signed off, and Nagrit came over to kiss her. His hands were warm and offered great relief to her churning mind and belly. (You are worried,) he said.

(Of course not,) Terliss lied, stroking the hand on her face. (She will be dead when I want her to be dead.)

(And when will that be?)

(I don't know. Let's go see how close she is.)

After a short shuttle trip, we nodded the two stiff Hork-Bajir guards away and entered the brig. Now, Jennor was flat on the ground, her heaving flanks a slowly rising and falling mound, main eyes half open, stalk eyes slack. Tremors kept rippling over her haunches, making her back legs twitch. Her humanoid torso was folded in on itself, arms crossed, like she was bracing herself from a continuous icy gust of wind. One of her hooves rocked back and forth on the grass slowly, leaving a stripe of withered, absorbed grass. Her tail was coiled flaccidly against the wall.

Nagrit stood beside Terliss, stroking his chin thoughtfully. It had been two days since Terliss had injected Jennor. The poison was supposed to be instantaneous.

(I didn't know Andalites could get so gray,) Nagrit said.

(It is quite a strange sight.) Terliss agreed.

Nagrit glanced between her and Jennor. (Has the physician looked at her yet?)

(No. She's feeding right now,) Terliss replied. (Besides, I don't need the girl to be treated. There is no deadline. I just want to know what's happening to her.)

(You could just allow Noorlin to look at her.)

(I would like to limit their physical interaction as much as possible. Any involvement she has with the uninfestables is dangerous. I fear they are building a partnership. Or at least camaraderie.)

A shiver charged through Terliss' spine. That had been a mistake. She had been as thrilled about Jennor's quick defeat as I was despondent, and too ready to celebrate. She'd sent everyone, including Sub-Visser 11, the uninfestable doctor, and her guards from her quarters without giving them sufficient orders, focused more on Nagrit's perfect form than on strategy and consequence. And though that sex had been really hot, it all came crashing down when there was a knock at her door not ten minutes after the room had been cleared.

She almost did kill that Hork-Bajir, that stupid guard that didn't know what to do with his prisoners. She hadn't thought that putting the Andalites in two different cells would have been a difficult task to figure out for himself. But she also, maybe, hadn't given the Andalites themselves enough credit. And that meant, for better or worse, Jennor and the doctor had been in the same cell, communicating on both a verbal and physical level, for about ten minutes.

(They're all together in here, Terliss. They can still communicate. Perhaps we should bring them to the Pool Ship. Keep them separate from Jennor.)

(No,) Terliss insisted. (No, this is good. We'll keep her weak, frightening. They won't resist us if they think we'll do the same to them. Let them chat and gossip. If they can't see each other, can't plan together, they pose no threat. We can have both. Their defeat, her seclusion and alienation. We can have both.)

(Are you sure, Terliss?) He asked quietly.

She turned her eyes up to him. He was worse at hiding his fear than she was. Not just about what Jennor and the doctor had talked about, but about the suspicious look that Hork-Bajir had given him when he shook off like a wet dog and stood back, wiping the sweat from his brow at the back of his neck.

(I wish we could just kill her and be done with it,) Terliss snapped. Nagrit touched her arm, though more to comfort himself than to comfort her.

(We will,) he said.

(I've killed her four times, Nagrit. I shot her with her Shredder. It didn't work. It is a piece of trash, so I wasn't too torn up about it. But then I shot her with my Dracon Beam. More frightening, but it has been known to misfire occasionally. Then I injected her with enough poison to kill her twice. And here she is, gray, and still, and frightfully prostrate, but alive.)

(There is a reasonable explanation for everything, Terliss. She is made of flesh and blood. She will perish.)

(When?)

(Where's the nearest airlock?)

(So much talk,) Jennor interrupted suddenly, almost as if she had been waiting for the moment. Terliss looked down and saw a wonderful, arrogant smile in Jennor's eyes. (So little action.) I felt a spike of sudden enthusiasm. Adrenaline flooded my bloodstream, but Terliss was careful and practiced at not showing it. She smiled back.

(Shall I get the doctor to subdue her again?) Nagrit asked.

(No,) Terliss answered privately. (I want you to stay.)

Terliss walked over to the control panel and deactivated the force field. Jennor smiled. (That is rather brave,) she said.

(Bravery implies fear, Jennor. I do not fear you.) Terliss said. (You're stupid, powerless, and delusional. You're no threat to me.)

(You're right,) Jennor sighed. Her tail dipped weakly, the tip falling into the soft dirt. (It's very stupid to honor your loved ones.)

(Honor?) Terliss laughed. (You honor nothing through reckless submission.)

(I have submit to no one,) she retorted.

(Are you insinuating that I should fear a gray, disabled form like yourself?)

(That must be a question you ask yourself daily.) Jennor's smile widened. My sobs stopped long enough for a laugh to emerge. Terliss paused for a moment, then pressed her tail blade up against her throat.

(I believe you misunderstand your predicament,) Terlis whispered, rocking my little tail blade under her chin while I tried to pull it away with every shred of will I could muster. (You think you came here because you wanted to. You came here, Jennor, because I baited you. You think you have a degree of agency aboard this vessel. You don't. Every breath you take, every desire you hold, every thought that tumbles through your weak little mind is under my direct influence. And when I tire of you, puppet, when your strings and rigid little body no longer amuse me, you will die.)

(Not before I have my chance, Yeerk.)

In any other circumstance, she would have laughed it off as an empty threat. But something about it struck Terliss as undeniably, necessarily true. Jennor had been killed four times and she was still alive, and that was only aboard this vessel.

She was alive because she wanted to be.

Her tail blade suddenly felt weighted down, unbearable. I felt an irresistible compulsion to pull it away from Jennor's neck. I got the feeling I'd just challenged someone's jurisdiction or broken some strong, natural law. I was flush with shame and humiliation, like my hand was caught inside some cosmic cookie jar, like I was standing in front of a large, judgmental crowd who shook their heads in unified shame and disgust. Terliss removed her tail blade, and all was forgiven.

The pile of rope squirmed in discomfort, suddenly more than idle nerves, suddenly more than remote empowerment. She was too distracted to keep her thoughts from me, and they barreled through her head and right into mine. The snake was a unique individual who happened to reside inside of her. And its purpose was to warn her.

Jennor was not dead because we could not yet kill her.

(I need to leave,) Terliss said privately to Nagrit. Nagrit punched the controls obediently and the force field flickered back into place. Her face was still composed, and she stood slowly, watching Jennor's determination wane into confusion.

(You are motivated by revenge, but even that is a penetrable defense,) Terliss said. (I have a talent for willful little brats, Jennor. I'll break you in half.)

Terliss snapped away and Nagrit followed shortly.

(What's the matter?) Nagrit asked.

(I'm afraid there is power at play here that we can't understand.)

(You could not kill her.)

Terliss was sort of shocked by his immediate understanding, but swallowed and composed herself. (I was going to. The moment I imagined slicing her throat, spilling her blood, I couldn't do it. I felt...)

(I know. I felt it too. What does it mean?)

I felt sick, like I'd eaten bad seafood, like I had the stomach flu, like I'd just gotten off some spinny ride at the carnival. Like the snake had dissolved into fingers and punched every nausea button in my body.

(She doesn't want to die,) Terliss said.

Terliss expected her theory to wash away the sickness, like this knowledge would be rewarded with relief, but the nausea only became more intense.

(She survives because she wants to?) Nagrit summarized. (That is not how war works.)

(No,) Terliss agreed. (Not ours.)

(Could it be—)

(I don't want to speculate,) Terliss said, nursing a headache with her palm. She was confused, tired, sick, and scared, so I was too. (Let's check on the bridge.)

We opened the door to the main hallway of the ship, and she swore she heard something scuttle in behind her.


	64. Chapter Twenty Six: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

(What was that?) She asked Nagrit.

(What was what, Terliss?)

(Did you hear that?) She asked, opening the door again, glancing at the grass, well-worn with hoofprints. She spotted at least two that seemed deeper than the others. (Something...moved.)

(You need to get more sleep, you're getting paranoid again.) Nagrit chided impatiently, turning out of the brig. She followed him, scanning the brig one last time.

(You heard it, didn't you?) Terliss asked me. I mentally shrugged.

(We do need more sleep.)

(Well, that's not up to me! If you'd be more accommodating, if your stupid body would acclimate to this stress, there wouldn't be a problem!)

(Touchy, touchy,) I taunted. (It doesn't help that you spend three hours at the end of your shift every night fucking Kiss-Ass Joe over here.)

That insult brought an unfortunate flood of memories. Terliss glanced up at Nagrit as they flowed through my head. She could ignore them most of the time, because she saw him as Nagrit, not that silly, hopeless, resistant Andalite. But now the only thing in her mind's eye were those feeding periods, silent and relieving for her, violent and unsettling for me.

(I am the servant of the people, I am the servant of my prince, I am the servant of honor…)

Vaxidun was chanting the Andalite death ritual, but made it sound more like a vow for vengeance than a relieving prayer of preparation.

(Vaxidun, please stop this. Please calm down. It's not your fault.)

His tail snapped forward rhythmically, thwarted by the chains and shackles. Blue hair snowed from the air, bald friction burns rubbed and cracked, turning flushed and dark blue, blood ran down the chains, down his tail, down the tip of his blade and flung against the wall and ceiling. The Hork-Bajir in the room who were supposed to keep him from morphing looked frantic. Not sure whether to knock him out or let him continue to go crazy.

(My life is not my own, when the people have need of it.)

(I have need of it, I can't do this without you! It's not our crime, Vaxidun, it's theirs! Don't let them ruin you, don't you leave me too, please stop this, I can't—)

(My life is given for the people, my prince, and for my HONOR! My HONOR! No honor left for this foul…contemptible…I'll kill you! Kill them! They made me into a…oh, Veranna, how can you forgive me? Jayterra, Brixill, my beautiful girls, I can, oh please…no…)

(Vaxidun, please, you don't have to look at me, but—)

And then his gaze shifted. And those beautiful brown sources of comfort and warmth were emblazoned with fury, separated by a deep, furrowed wrinkle, making a hard, terrible vow that even then I knew he would rather die than break.

(I am the servant of my _family_,) he began again. (I am the servant of my _duty_, my _pride_, and _honor_! And justice! I am the servant of justice! Justice that I vow will be served!)

I couldn't help it. I started crying. I'd lost the only companion I had.

And Terliss pitied me, gazing up at Nagrit, who somehow tempered that wild fury and made it soft and tender again. But even though she would never admit it, Terliss didn't trust him entirely.

(Because you saw that hate,) I whispered. (And you know how strong it is.)

She ignored me, shuddered off her doubt, and headed down to the bridge. We walked in silence for a while until Nagrit broke it.

(She does not want to die,) Nagrit repeated, continuing to rub his chin. (What if she did? What if we made her?)

(The Andalite brat would get what she wanted,) Terliss vowed.

(Yes,) Nagrit whispered. (Yes, I believe she would.)

We stopped.

(We have to break her will,) Terliss said. (Her will is what protects her, but it is only good when it is intact.)

(I believe so.)

(It may take longer than the Council will allow,) Terliss said.

(But you are Empress.)

(Yes, I am.) She almost reached out to him, but stopped herself as I remembered that look of hate that Vaxidun had for me.

We entered the bridge and spent a couple of hours completing the boring administrative tasks that come with being in charge. Nagrit was still fine-tuning the duty roster, while Terliss had a more global infrastructure to manage. After approving a new Taxxon Homeworld budget, approving Ossot 172's twenty page recommendation to increase the potency of human fertility drugs by 7%, and settling a credit dispute between Vissers Seventeen and Thirty-Eight, Terliss could finally focus on local goals and problems.

She headed over to a bored-looking Taxxon exo-datalogsit. The Taxxon's forked tongue licked the telepathic controls in frustration.

(Any progress?) Terliss asked as Nagrit stood back.

"The computers are locked until we receive a decryption code from Andalite high command," the Taxxon sighed. "We've tried every known cipher and algorithm known to Yeerks. This is an encryption they've developed since the beginning of the war, and it's unlike anything we've ever seen before."

Terliss shuddered in anger. (Keep working on it, breakthroughs are often unexpected.)

"Yes, sir. There is one other thing—"

(Yes?) Terliss snapped.

"We've taken a closer look at unclassified files," he began, tapping a pincer on a broad, flat rectangle on the panel, loading a page on the computer. "We found one that may be of interest and use to your personal quest."

The Taxxon pulled up a personnel file that hadn't been updated in a couple of years, other than to say "Missing in Action." It was a young Andalite, not much older than Jennor, if that, and he had a smug look in his eye.

(I'm not seeing it,) Terliss admitted in quick exhaustion.

The Taxxon lifted a pincer and pointed at a specific location on the screen. "There," he said.

_Last known location: Aboard Dome Ship _GalaxyTree_ when destroyed._

(He's only an _aristh_,) Terliss said, looking back at Nagrit. (He would have been in the Dome when the ship separated.)

(Visser Three recovered the Dome of the _GalaxyTree_,) Nagrit remembered. (He said there were no survivors found.)

(So he was either incinerated, or he got away,) Terliss said with a laugh. (If he got away, he'd have no choice but to ally himself with the Visser's Andalite Bandits. And, as the only true Andalite member of that cell…that could very well be the Andalite she stayed with, Nagrit.)

(You're that certain there are no other Andalites on the surface?)

(Our trackers found the evidence of two Andalites, Nagrit. Just two. One of them was Jennor. If he survived, this has to be the other one.)

(So we've discovered the identity of her lover?)

Terliss didn't respond, too wary about making a hasty judgment. She shook her head in uncertainty.

She looked at the personnel picture again a little bit deeper. Yeah, he had that Andalite glint of arrogance, that slouched, "whatever" posture, but Terliss could see qualities on that façade that would match very well with how she knew Jennor. This boy believed in duty, believed in responsibility. This boy bought all of the bullshit the Andalite military sold, but not only with self-interest at heart. He seemed…chivalrous, somehow. Dignified. Honorable.

Terliss stared, toiling over what conclusion she was going to draw, when something caught her eye. A flare of recognition that had no immediate cause. She gazed closer.

_Parents: Father: Noorlin-Sirinial-Cooraf. Mother: Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen._

(That's them,) she gasped. (The uninfestable's son is one of the Andalite Bandits.)

(You're sure of this?) Nagrit asked.

(That's why they're here,) she scoffed. (They lost Elfangor, they were coming to retrieve him. Reuniting a family, how precious and pathetic! Oh, Nagrit, we can destroy an uninfestable and Jennor with one marooned and defenseless stone. He's the key, Nagrit. If we destroy him, we destroy them all.)

Nagrit nodded. (Shall I message Visser Three about this?)

(Yes, tell him it's a prioritized objective. Tell him I want him found within the week.)

(Very well, sir. We shall finally inform him that the other bandits are human. I do not think he will meet this objective without that information.)

Terliss scoffed. (Let's not overdo it, Nagrit. Three birds with one stone, this way. Let Visser Three panic for a while, let him fail, then we'll swoop in and save the day once again.)

(Are you sure you want to risk that? We can finish this now, Terliss. With the right information, he will complete this mission, and then we'll complete ours. It will be over.)

Terliss was puffed up. She already considered herself the winner. She was so much in control of this, she could decide exactly how it was going to happen.

(No. The longer it takes him, the more accountability and trustworthiness he loses in the eyes of the Council. We can shred any potential testimony about us he decides to unveil. His pathetic attempts at blackmail will be meaningless if he can't complete this one task. And then, when the time comes, you can return to Earth, find the boy, and expose Visser Three for the brainless fraud he is. We can have it all, Nagrit. We can have each other, Jennor's defeat, the germinating seeds of Andalite defeat. We can have it all if we just give him a few months to fail.)

(I don't know that I like this side of you, Terliss. You're too good at being coldly manipulative.)

(Then let's add some fire to my repertoire, shall we?)

We headed back to the brig once again. Now that she was confident that she could not kill Jennor, it was like a playground was evident before her. Prisoners were fun to break. It was pleasant to watch their resistance devolve into pathetic, terrified squirming, comforting to see their strong forms deteriorate into emaciated skeletons. She wouldn't start quickly, of course. She was going to enjoy this.

(Terliss,) I said quietly as she stood outside the door to the brig, composing herself. (She's not doing anything to you. She's taking up space in your brig, that's all. Just leave her alone. She can't hurt you anymore.)

(If only I shared your optimism,) she spat back.

(Please, Terliss. She's harmless. You could...torturing her could give her the motivation to fight back, you know. Jennor's not like normal Andalites. Look in my memories! She responds to negative reinforcement! See for yourself!)

(Terenia,) she sighed, rubbing my forehead tenderly, (this isn't about you. I know that's hard to believe, but I'm not doing this to hurt you.)

(Please just stop,) I cried. (Please don't do this.)

Nagrit returned and handed her a laser that resembled a wire cheese slicer. She was going to skin Jennor alive.


	65. Chapter Twenty Six: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

(Terliss, no! Please! Just go to the bridge, go to the dome, take Nagrit and let him get on top of you, just anything else!)

(I'm sorry, Terenia.) She opened the door and walked inside. The two Hork-Bajir standing guard outside followed her in and nodded to the single guard inside. Jennor was standing up again. Some of the color had returned to her face.

(Feeling better?) Terliss asked her.

(Your incessant intrusions irritate me, Yeerk.)

(This is my ship, Jennor. I go wherever my desire strikes.) She nodded to Nagrit, who turned his Dracon Beam on her, set between the two Hork-Bajir. (Never forget who is the intruder in this situation.)

Jennor gazed at each of the Yeerks in turn, then stared at me for a long time. I knew she could see me, could hear my desperation and cowardice, and I tried to scream to warn her, to run away, to go back to Earth if she could, because only I could see the plans that Terliss had for her.

(It must be difficult for you, being in such proximity to loved ones who failed you,) Terliss said, turning the instrument over in her hands, stepping inside the cell. (I do apologize for laughing at your reunion with your father. It was very touching.)

(I can't imagine punishment appropriate enough for bringing him here,) Jennor seethed. (There is a special place in hell for you.)

(I'm sure that's true, Jennor, but I didn't bring him here. His presence was a great serendipity. What makes you think his presence was not his own decision?)

(No self-respecting Andalite would give themselves over to a Yeerk!)

Terliss smiled and allowed Jennor's own clear hypocrisy to descend upon her.

(I agree, Jennor. None would. But besides a special circumstance or two, do we Yeerks strike you as kidnappers?)

Jennor eyed me for a moment longer, and then began to laugh. (No, you can't manipulate me. I see your head. You're lying.) She didn't sound confident.

(No, Jennor. He was here simply because he had to be. I'm sure you hope, deep down in your pathetic hearts, that he came to rescue you, to fulfill that ridiculous, selfish fantasy that even Terenia could see when you were an infant. You imagine that he came to Earth to find you and bring you back home so you could run over warm slopes under clear skies, laughing and bonding without a care in the world, correct?)

Jennor stopped laughing, and turned her glance slightly away.

(Your father felt nothing but apathy for you, Jennor, apathy and shame, stemming from his own failures and insecurities. He wanted you out of his life. He knew what Tuxebi was up to, ever since that first training day, remember? When you first met Terenia? Only a fool wouldn't see how obvious Tuxebi's intentions were, and yet he did nothing to stop it, to avert your kidnapping, to prevent your decade and a half of sexual abuse and combat. He let it happen, because it meant you were out of his life, it meant he was absolved of his responsibility for you. He let you go. And he would have stayed on Andal forever if the Electorate hadn't gotten involved. Very strict are the laws regarding neglectful parents. It was much costlier to ignore orders from high command itself than to buy his ticket on this ship. He is weak. A coward. And those were the traits he passed onto you. Shame, self-pity, insecurity, all of them as hereditary as eye color or height. And what's good for me is the most desperate you share is denial.)

(Do you think a Yeerk's idle speculation means anything to me at all? I know my father.) Jennor turned her gaze up to me, to prove her confidence, but the look in her eye made me sob.

(You know what you believe, which only proves my point,) Terliss said. (You look within me, searching for truth. Look closely, Jennor. Am I not being honest? What is the lie, and what is the truth?)

Terliss smiled as something new and terrifying happened. She stood in front of Jennor, stared into her eyes, and that black confidence overcame her. The pile of ropes untangled and spread throughout her limbs, gave her uncharacteristic strength. I felt it in her fingers, her spine. The world was all just a fun game she was good at playing. She stared straight across as Jennor shirked down, and I could feel the overwhelming power radiating from her like heat, drowning and poisoning Jennor. What was this? How could she be so convincing, even on a telepathic level? Some evil power surged through her, so great and overcoming that it couldn't be her, and I felt crowded, suffocated...

Nagrit's eyes widened a little. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

The color drained from Jennor's face. (It's not his fault,) Jennor squeaked. (It was Tuxebi, it was...)

(Your father is a man, Jennor, not a tool.) She gestured to the weapon in her hand. (He has agency. He has decision. He has blame,) Terliss said. She turned on the cheese-cutter, and a wide, red laser appeared between the two prongs. (Actually...this is precisely what you've both become.)

She turned a stalk eye to a Hork-Bajir. (Hold her down.) The Hork-Bajir entered the cell, Dracon Beam trained on her, and she readied for combat.

(Hurt my Hork-Bajir and I'll do it to your cellmates next,) Terliss promised. (Nagrit, shoot her if you sense so much as a twitch.)

The Hork-Bajir grabbed her by the arm, pulled her toward him, and shoved her into the ground by her shoulder. Her knees buckled from the force, and he pushed her face into the grass. Her lower body swung to the far side of the cell and landed hard, and Jennor whimpered a little, joint muscles strained from the weight. Terliss walked over slowly, holding the glowing laser out in front of her like a torch, and I screamed, and pulled, and tried to get it back but it wouldn't move. I was so weak, I had weakened so much over 16 years, I couldn't help her.

The other Hork-Bajir entered the cell, holding her tail like a gigantic firearm resting on his shoulder. He held his wrist blade at the base, pressing it deeply within the skin, so if she moved, he'd lop the whole thing off until it twitched and gushed out cascades of blood.

Terliss knelt beside Jennor, took her tenderly in her arms, and stroked her upper back with a gentle hand. (Remember those carefree days on Andal, Jennor? Remember when you'd press your hand against my face and view memories of Earth? Terenia gave you the love that he could never spare. She had the courage to overcome the hesitation of potential heartbreak. She risked the pain, she risked it all ending badly, she risked more than he ever could. It was easier for him to choose the hollow fog of apathy than to even try to love you, Jennor. That's how insubstantial you really were.)

Jennor main eyes were hard and unfocused, stalk eyes zipping between the two Hork-Bajir and Nagrit.

(And me? Well, I care, Jennor. I want to offer you reeducation.) She pressed the beam between Jennor's shoulder blades and stroked slowly downward. I felt the flesh bubble and seize beneath me, I could feel the nerves under my hand burst in agony. Screams filled my head, echoed out of the cell, the body below me was twitching and bucking, using every faculty to shake the cutter loose but Terliss was calm, practiced, still filled with that foreign, black confidence. I cried, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, my voice carried no weight, and I wondered if I made any noise at all, or was so overcome by my Yeerk that the only power I had left was to imagine my screams, imagine my resistance.

She cut down to the bottom of her upper back, and lifted the sheath of mutilated skin in front of her. It hung like a dead fish, heavy and warm and cooked and stinking like no meat I knew, and Jennor trembled and sobbed below her. (Waste not, want not. Summon a well-behaved Taxxon.)

A Taxxon was fetched.

(Watch, Jennor. Watch what the Yeerk Empire is doing to you, what your father surrendered you to.) She dangled the skin like a dog toy and threw it to the Taxxon. It screamed, filling the cell with high, shrill shriek, and caught the edge of the slab in its mouth, slurping and wolfing it toward him, swallowing it fast, drops of blood spattering its face, desperate for more.

Terliss grabbed Jennor's cold hand and held it straight. She cut a new sheath of skin from shoulder to wrist, rotating around her arm like a helix as the arm flailed weakly, pointlessly, as screams and sobs mixed together, and the Taxxon slurped it down like it was a strand of spaghetti.

More skin, more blood, more cauterized pus, the sharp smell of burning flesh made me sick. Long strands of skin and flesh, some narrow, some thick, all warm and crisped and dead, dripping and ripe, like she was skinning a sapient fruit. Jennor screamed for a long time, but then the screams died down, the pain too intense to even acknowledge with resistance. People don't realize that true pain isn't partnered with screaming, because screaming takes a lot of energy and focus, which are the first things that you lose in torture. The truly suffering are always silent, or at most whimpering. Jennor's thrashing turned to shivering, and she blubbered like an infant, comfortable in no position but too hurt and tired to find a new one.

The Taxxon was not satisfied, and as soon as Terliss finished, he lunged, going for the juicy, delicious, shiny meal splayed out in front of him like a holiday feast. Nagrit intercepted, pointing his Dracon Beam at him, saying, (You received this reward for your good behavior. Do not tarnish it now.)

(Bit by little bit, Jennor,) Terliss whispered, stroking Jennor's head, patting the two blackened little sores where stalk eyes had once been, fingering the holes in her skull that allowed them. She pressed her cheek to the warm, mutilated creature, as tender and maternal as she could. (It has only just begun.)

She rose to her hooves, and allowed the Hork-Bajir out first. She reengaged the force field. To the guard: (Once she tries to morph, shoot her unconscious and come retrieve me. I have other work to do until then. Also,) she said, opening up her communication to include Jennor. (Cement her hooves. I don't want her leeching off my resources.) Jennor did nothing but cough at this.

She looked at Nagrit, who still seemed concerned about the flush of power that had flooded her. (You may need to take this over at some point, Nagrit. Can you do that?)

(I'll do whatever you ask of me, sir.)

She smiled and looked back down at the girl, squirming and writhing on the ground. (Good.)

When Jennor was better, Terliss started her on the same regimen as the uninfestables. She kept her injected with the same hormone that made it impossible to sleep, and her hooves were cemented shut so she couldn't eat. Jennor's entire existence became a constant struggle to stay upright and conscious.

I saw her less than I wanted. I wanted to spend all of my time with her, keep screaming as loud as my mind or imagination would allow, because there was a chance, no matter how small, that I could still break through, that I could give her the hope she needed to fight back. Couldn't I? Or was this all an exercise in passing time? Was I already gone?

I could still think. She couldn't take that from me.

She was in her quarters, staring out the long window at Saturn. It really is a pretty planet up close. All the rings are like a solid rainbow, sparkling in sunlight so pure that it's white, the only defiance against the insurmountable void of space. The planet below is like a sea of moving sand and blood. Nagrit put his hand on my shoulder. Terliss reached her other arm up and touched his hand.

(Victory is within our grasp, sir,) he said.

(I'm not "sir," Nagrit. Not here.)

(Terliss,) he whispered, running his other hand down my side. He spoke no more, because there was nothing more to say. He grabbed my side a little too hard, and his tail twitched a little, but Terliss ignored these pointless flares of resistance. I wanted Vaxidun to give me some of his strength. I wanted Nagrit and Terliss to fear me like they feared him. But it had been too long for me. I was almost out of everything. From here on out, I had only enough to stay silent most of the time except to blubber when I was in Jennor's presence. I was nothing anymore. I was no one.

It had gotten to the point that Terliss wasn't using my body anymore. It was hers. I was just a squatter. Maybe I could be freed. Maybe she'd be evicted. But the only hope I had was starved of food and sleep, well on her way towards death. I tried to take comfort in the touch, the sex, but it wasn't mine. Nothing was mine anymore.

I sunk into a little hole in my head, and I didn't know if I'd ever have the strength to come out again.

* * *

**A/N: Okay buddies, I have to be real with you. This is getting a little overwhelming. And next week is Christmas, which means I fully expect everyone to be with family and/or at their jobs earning double time. I'm _planning_ on taking next week off, just to catch up with everything that's going on here, to make sure exactly where I'm headed and how I'm going to get there. I may find the time and focus to catch up before then, in which case I will post a new chapter on the 24th, but I'm just basically saying, don't count on it. In fact, from here on out, I would tell you not to count on weekly updates as regular as they have been. I'll do my best. But I may have to reorder my priorities a little bit.**

**Anyway, thanks again to my reviewers, and everyone who has stuck through this far. I hope it's not getting too convoluted for you guys. Thanks again for giving me this much of a chance. :)  
**


	66. Chapter Twenty Seven: Jennor

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jennor

PART ONE OF THREE

The poison made blood pound through every artery in my body. Palpitations beat upon my head, my shoulders, my flanks. Heat fled my limbs, leaving everything clammy and as cold as my hands. It wasn't quite numbness, and it wasn't quite pain. It was some kind of vague, disconnected discomfort that rolled through me like fog, slow and decelerating. I knew I was succumbing to it, whatever it was. I knew it would kill me.

I had been afraid, in my waning condition, that Noorlin had grown fearful, deciding to value his own life more than the mission, or had just forgotten about me. I was terrified that he'd leave me here and return too late, when the last of my strength would have failed. But it hadn't been very long, and it certainly would take him time to figure out a way to help me. Still, I had wondered if he had the skill, the guts to do it. Aximili would have, but he was not Aximili. I had wondered if the plan had failed before it had even been given a chance to breathe.

Air became heavy and taxing. Cold sweat continued to wring out of me, solid grains through my constricted glands. I felt my blood pressure drop, felt my pulse quicken to compensate. Reality was becoming skewed, twisted. The cones in my eyes failed, and everything was a world of shadow. I was losing my grip on reality. I was hearing voices in my head.

(Readjust the sensory output so it matches the reverse polar frequency of the force field, _Noorlin_.)

(If you speak any louder, that Hork-Bajir will hear you. Besides, I told you I've tried that already! The output is too weak to disrupt the field.)

(If I could see the damn things, I could hook them together to increase their power output! What kind of dumb female gives an engineering project to a doctor?)

(What do you want me to do, Trylast?)

(I want you to get me out of this cell.)

(Isstarim? Do you have any ideas?)

Silence for a moment. Then, (Vents.)

(The one word you choose to deliver in two days is absolutely worthless. Thanks, Isstarim.)

(Give Trylast the devices through the vents.)

(Oh, I...that's actually a halfway decent idea.)

(Where are they, Isstarim? I can't seem to—)

(Covered by holograms, in the center of the wall separating you.)

(I'm not seeing it, Isstarim, I can't—oh, wait. Yes. Here. Isstarim, distract the guard. Trylast, put your hands against the wall. Can you feel me tapping on it?)

(Tap away, Noorlin. Tapping is certainly an inventive and sophisticated solution to this problem. Let's continue to tap.)

(How can I power these holograms down?)

(I can't believe they even let you out of basic—)

I heard a small "puft," combined with an exchange. I was beginning to realize this may not entirely be a dream.

"What was that noise? What trouble are you causing now, Andalite scum?"

(FOUL YEERK!) I heard. A bright flash, followed by a sound like thunder and lightning filled the room. The Hork-Bajir stumbled over to see what had happened.

(If Isstarim is dead because of this, I am going to be so—)

_Tap, tap, tap._

(Just hold on, Jennor, we've almost got this figured out. Trylast, can you—)

(Not with your incessant banter in my ear! This technology seems...ah yes, rather user-friendly. You really couldn't operate these?)

Something hummed and powered down. Hooves stepped out of a cell. (How sweet to taste stale, re-filtered air again.)

"Andalite—" The Hork-Bajir said, sweeping toward him too slowly. A soft FWAPP silenced him.

(Did you kill him?)

(No. Let's put him in the spare cell. We'll see if this brilliant plan of the female's works on a lesser form.)

(All right, Trylast. Now I need to look at the girl.)

Someone stepped in front of my cell. I couldn't see him, everything was too blurred, but the sense was there, yes. I could feel him. An overwhelming arrogance suddenly shrunk to fear.

(Yes. You better get out here, Noorlin.) He tapped a few controls by my force field, and I felt a rush of cold. I shivered, grasping my shoulders hard, and the presence sauntered away.

(Not a second to spare,) Noorlin muttered once he entered my cell, bent over me, pressing a hand against my forehead. (I need to go to the medical bay and get some supplies. If she starts convulsing—Trylast, listen to me. If she starts convulsing, close the force field and go back in your cell.)

(Why?)

(Because it will be too late.) Noorlin disappeared, inhaled sharply, and began to morph something small enough to slip under the crack in the door to the main hallway.

(Noorlin, you fool, we have one weapon in this battle, and you forget to use it?)

(What are you—)

Before Noorlin could say another word, Trylast held open a hand and caused a familiar hissing sound. The lighting changed. He had conjured a replacement image of Noorlin.

Infinite time passed. For a while, there was nothing except grunting and complaining. Then, there were two presences, both standing at the entrance of the cell, watching me from above.

(She is pretty though, right? Very pretty. For a female.)

(Listen,) the other said. They stood still for a moment. One scrambled away as the other calmly reengaged my forcefield.

(He's still out there, they're going to know that—)

(Courage, my friend.)

Their forcefields hummed back into place just as the door to the brig opened.

Two unsettling presences replaced the comforting ones. I felt a flush of vague panic. They shouldn't be here now. They were going to ruin everything. They were just mocking me, their visit served no purpose. I tried not to give anything away, but reality was such a skewed thing right now I couldn't be sure what I was saying or how they were interpreting it. I couldn't see them, I could only feel them, the vague sense of accomplishment and entitlement, and something more, something that inspired jealousy and regret, that made me want to curl up into a ball and block it from view. And yet, it gave me hope. Because as hard as it was to acknowledge, I knew it could be exploited as a weakness.

They left shortly after. I hadn't given anything away. And right after the door closed, Noorlin shimmered back into view.

(Oh, you're back,) Trylast sighed as he made his way out of his cell. (They were here, when you left. I couldn't believe that we actually survived that.)

(Just stay out of the way,) Noorlin spat, kneeling beside me. Quickly, with great expertise, he prepared a syringe and injected it into my arm. Heat flooded into my bloodstream. Terrible, ceaseless heat that cascaded like flame through all the dilated tubes in my body. I reached up to him with a hand, tried to push him away.

(All right, good, it's not too far gone. Good. Good girl. Eat this, it's medicine. It will help you. Just keep breathing. Good. Breathe. Slow.) He held something of foul texture up to my hoof and kept trying to put his fingers inside. It was invasive and uncomfortable.

(Stop,) I said, pressing my hand hard against his face, pushing him away. The heat continued to course through cold, unprepared terminals, burning and warping them. I got up, tried to shake the pain free, but it kept going, kept—

I opened my eyes, grabbing the edge of my cell for support. I could see now. Three concerned, male Andalites were before me, all in different stages of middle age. Two standing a little farther back. One right in front of me, familiar, comforting, and close, peering inside my pupils, fussing with my vitals.

(What happened to me?) I asked.

(_Ptarnit_ poisoning,) he sighed, pressing his fingertips against a pulse point, pressing his other hand against my forehead, wiping away the chilled sweat. (That woman must really not like you.)

(Who are they?) I asked, glancing behind Noorlin at the two Andalites. One was tall, older, and thin. His posture was regal yet relaxed, and he was both curious and completely detached. The other was nervous, fidgeting. A little less than average height for a male. His stalk eyes were too short, and his tail blade curved too much.

(Isstarim and Trylast,) Noorlin said, gesturing to me, (meet Jennor.)

(Quite a pleasure, I'm sure. Wonderful to know that there are now four helpless, foolish free Andalites aboard this ship, instead of just three.) Trylast said, rolling his stalk eyes, beginning to pace. Isstarim just stared, detached and amused.

(You gave him the emitters,) I said, taking a step forward as the heat began to dissipate, then stepping back, overcome with dizziness.

(They're trustworthy, Jennor. They're also uninfestable.)

(Uninfestable?) I asked. (None of you can be infested either?)

(Sharp as a tail blade, that girl,) Trylast laughed. (I think our odds of success just _tripled_.)

(Give her a moment, Trylast.) Noorlin snapped. (I don't know how much time we have, Jennor, so we all need to talk, and fast.)

(Okay,) I said, breathing in deep, steadying myself, rubbing my cold hands together. (Why can't we be infested?)

(We don't know for sure,) Noorlin admitted. Isstarim began stroking his jaw with his long fingers. (I read a paper, long ago, but—)

(Don't you dare repeat that nonsense in my presence,) Trylast warned. (I'll hear no more crackpot theories from traitors long dead.)

Noorlin sighed. (We don't know for sure,) he repeated.

(We need the rest of the emitters,) Trylast said. (The good doctor here says you've got at least six more. I don't know where you've hidden them, but we need them now.)

(Please,) I said again, putting cold fingers to my pounding temples, his voice like a cheese grater against them. (Not so loud. How long have I been unconscious?)

(Just over a day, which means our collective will to live has dropped by half. Poor Isstarim, they stripped his tail like some piece of fruit,) Trylast said.

(What are they torturing you for?)

(It's not torture. It's not inventive, it's not personal. They're systematically weakening our physical strength. Contrived starvation and sleep deprivation. They believe that will answer the question as to why we cannot be infested,) Noorlin explained. (They do not understand that it merely strengthens their aversion to our minds.)

(Stop referencing that nonsense, Noorlin.)

(Well, it's certainly strengthened something,) I muttered.

(Yes, sharptail, torture does tend to make one testy. I haven't eaten a blade of grass in over ten hours, haven't gotten more than forty-five minutes of solid sleep in over a week, and, oh yes, my ulcer is acting up again.)

(As your primary physician, I can safely say that is your fault.)

Isstarim continued to smile.

(I have more emitters, but releasing the entire supply runs the risk of discovery and loss,) I said. (We can escape from these cells, which is...good. That's very good.)

(Hadn't thought that far, had you?) Trylast laughed. (Hadn't even figured out how to break out of her cell. No, no, not the little girl with the big plan.)

(I had no idea she'd bring me to a Dome Ship,) I said. (I thought I'd be able to morph something sufficiently small, and—)

(You had no idea what you were doing. "Just have faith in her," Noorlin said, so hopeless and terrified that he'd trust someone he didn't know or understand. This is ridiculous. Noorlin, I officially blame my ulcer on you getting my hopes up.)

(You have the Hork-Bajir guard in the cell,) I recalled.

(Yes. We didn't want to test this on someone we knew,) Noorlin said.

(Fine,) I agreed. (Conjur him back up.)

(What?)

(He's our test subject. The first footsoldier in our hopeless, foolish rebellion army.)

(You want to keep him in there?)

(Where else are we going to put him?)

(That seems dangerous,) Noorlin said.

(It is,) I said. (It's incredibly dangerous. For one thing, she could notice the hologram isn't acting quite like he should. The hologram could fail. He could wake up in there, cause us some trouble. She might need the cell. There's probably eighty or ninety more immediate dangers that I can't see right now. But you all knew that, before you broke out just now. And you did it anyway.)

(I don't know what you're talking about,) Trylast said. (I just needed to stretch my tail.)

(This can work,) I said with an attempt at power and confidence, but hearing myself, I could only sense how foolish and childish I sounded. (Noorlin can dope him for three days while his Yeerk starves. I can make a holographic replacement, controlling him when—)

(Who says you get to do it?) Trylast demanded.

(I didn't say I did, I was just trying to—)

(We should take turns,) Isstarim interrupted with the kind of power I had meant to employ. (At least one of us is here at any given time, except for when we work on the pool. It would be prudent to keep him under constant direct control, if possible.)

(Okay,) I said. (Yes. Good idea.)

(I think she's figured out that we haven't been as industrious on her public works project as she'd hoped,) Noorlin sighed.

(Yes, well, despite that, I don't we should give up so easily. Now that we can leave the cells freely, thanks to the masochistic mare here, I believe we should still offer our honest help on that project. The fact that the Yeerk's can't feed is the only thing keeping us here, if I understand her plan correctly, and the only way we can ever hope to even attempt to implement your ridiculously ambitious rescue mission,) Trylast said, looking at me.

(Yes, you're right. Who did they remove last?) Noorlin asked.

(Me,) Isstarim answered.

(Okay, so Isstarim, you begin controlling the hologram of the Hork-Bajir guard. And Trylast, since you're the engineer, I think it best that you take point on sabotaging the pool.)

(Oh, but Noorlin, how very much I wished to relax from here on out. Catch up on my reading, perhaps start building up my physique again. I had plans to design a better heat transfer coil to make our stay at this resort a little more comfortable.) Trylast pinched an emitter and blinked in and out of invisibility a couple of times. (Well, I will tell you this much, girl. You don't skimp on technological quality.)

Trylast handed Isstarim an emitter, and he walked slowly over to the cell containing the unconscious Hork-Bajir. Watching him, he imagized the Hork-Bajir, standing armed with a Dracon Beam just to my right.


	67. Chapter Twenty Seven: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

(Does she only ever use one guard in here?) I asked.

(No, actually, we waited until now to do this because this is the only shift she does.)

(There's another one of those eighty or ninety problems,) I groaned.

(Shift changes,) Trylast said. (Where is he going to go after his shift is over?)

(I think we can improvise through that,) Noorlin said. (I took plenty of double shifts in my residency. We'll just have him work the double shift that never ends.)

(Oh, this is going to fail,) Trylast laughed. (I have never been surer of anything in my life.)

(Well, then it's good I haven't listened to one thing you've said,) I spat. (The worst she can do to any of us is kill us, and that seems to be the only thing we're waiting for. Why not have this fun on the way out?)

(I didn't say I wouldn't help,) Trylast said. (I just said it wasn't going to work.)

(All right, go back to your cells. In three days, or however long it takes that scum to die, we'll pick our first real recruit.)

We went back to our cells while Noorlin picked up some more medical supplies. There was only a limited supply of Hork-Bajir medicine on the Dome Ship, so he had to be careful not to take so much that the other doctor would notice. When he returned, he used another emitter to fake his force field, so he could come and go freely, and another to hide his growing supply of medicine and drugs. That was five emitters fully employed, and the plan had barely begun.

The rest of us stood restlessly waiting for her to return, or whispering newly realized potential failures, or trying to sleep or eat when Yeerk interference allowed neither. Every once in a while, a team of Hork-Bajir would take one of the men away for continued "weakening of will." And slightly more often, she would enter the brig with her handsome lover and torture me.

I wasn't afraid of her.

That first welcome aboard the ship had been worse than I'd expected. She had more power, more motivation and desire to destroy me than I had anticipated. I hadn't known why she picked me, what made me special, and I still didn't, but I could see how intensively she believed it. She took pleasure from what she'd done to me. She'd laughed when she heard me scream, and not because she was a sadist, not because my pain validated her power. Because she'd been waiting for it. Because this is what she'd wanted for so long.

It confused me, and angered me that I'd underestimated her, but I didn't let it scare me. She couldn't scare me. I was still overcome with undeserved confidence. Three grown men, seemingly competent individuals, had accepted and implemented my plan. I wasn't alone, which was a feeling of such relief that I hadn't realized how much I'd needed it. They were hungry, exhausted, heartbroken, and vindictive. They were also highly motivated and trustworthy.

At least, I hoped. Strange as it sounds, Trylast was the one I trusted the most. His contempt and open hostility were comforting because they were exactly what I expected. Noorlin was hiding something from me, and had grown so cold since his son's death that he couldn't even admit to siring another one. And Isstarim had barely said a word, and was shielded and unreadable. I got the vague and paranoid feeling that he was a spy.

But even trustable roommates couldn't relieve me when she retrieved me again.

And again.

And again.

She still didn't scare me. I couldn't allow myself to fear her when she entered the brig. I had to only see Terenia, that scared girl, that poor slave. My Terenia.

But I shivered and scurried to the back of my cell when those two Hork-Bajir entered first, followed by the brown eyed man, followed by the Empress, shoulders and tail high, stalk eyes slow and confident. I wrapped my face in my elbow when she opened the force field. I cried when the Hork-Bajir grabbed me by the arms and tail.

I was such a poor role model. Not that I believed anyone saw me that way, but the only way I could stay strong was by convincing myself that others needed me to be so.

I was weak now, like Trylast and Noorlin and Isstarim, I was tired and shaky with hunger and plagued with constant exhaustion headaches. I pressed my hands against my sinuses, as per Noorlin's instructions, to relieve the pain, but it did little good, and it was a poor replacement for the touch I really wanted.

She came for me two or three times a day. She was always prepared; very little of what she said seemed improvised. All was rehearsed and professional, even responses to what I felt were clever comebacks. She slipped sometimes, widened her eyes a little too much, turned a stalk eye a little too fast to her assistant. But I could never remember what I said to inspire that. Her retribution was quick and effective at making me forget how pithy I was.

Two Hork-Bajir dragged me to her quarters, another walking behind with a Dracon Beam pointed right between my eyes. I preferred this type of torture. When she just opened my cell and began, I had no time to prepare, no time to gird myself for the inevitable. They could all hear my screams. My pleading. Whatever I did in those periods that I didn't remember. Trylast, Isstarim, Noorlin. He must think so poorly of me.

We entered her quarters. Ancient human shackling devices were draped over her desk. Cold, heavy chains capped in handcuffs. The Hork-Bajir clicked them on, clicked them together, tangled them so there was no escape. They weighed down my tail with a large, iron ball.

(I've been a fool, Jennor. It's been two days, and I've only seen one facet of your personality. You spend much time like this, of course, but it was clear upon our visit to your home on Earth that you preferred a more local form. Morph to human, please.)

(Why?)

(I've made it a habit to ask things only once, Jennor,) she said, picking up and turning on the slicing device she'd used to skin me previously. I obeyed.

The shackles around my tail and flanks fell away, but the ones around my wrists and arms tightened, my human muscles bulged uncomfortable beneath them. I fell to my knees, then on my face. She'd bound me effectively. Almost too well.

(I'm not feeling particularly creative today, Jennor. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't usually like to rely on technology for my torture. I feel everything is much more frightening when homecrafted, physical. Intimate. But this device is quite a marvel. We used it on one of your friends on Earth. We quite think he agreed.)

Two Hork-Bajir wheeled in a device that resembled a large plastic cannon, like an X-ray machine at a human dentist. They set it up so it pointed right at me.

(That was only a test version, of course. A prototype. We'd like to see if our updated designs are improved. I offered you as a guinea pig, even though I hate not seeing the pain, not tasting the blood on the air. I offered because I think it's really going to hurt.)

She pressed a blue button.

There was sand between my toes. Soft, dusty sand that left a dry residue on my skin. It was warm in the afternoon sun, cool beneath the surface, and so comfortable that I could have drowned in it without resistance.

"How is your book?" Aximili asked, gazing down at me. His voice jarred me from my peaceful meditation, inviting a flood of coiling aches through my belly. Like the first rumble of thunder that announces a fresh summer storm. I fidgeted them back down.

I was sitting on the fleece blanket at the beach, reading. Or, pretending to read. My eyes had glazed over the past couple of pages and I wasn't really sure what was happening.

"Unengaging," I sighed, putting it down. "For a work about war, there is an awful lot of talking." I leaned back, flattened down the blanket, and accepted the sunlight into my naked shoulders, covered only by thin straps of a swimsuit top, suddenly very aware of the parts that it concealed.

It was a beautiful day for the human forms, and the beach was empty, since it was a time of day that humans were normally at work or school. Some had decided to forgo their responsibilities, tossing flat, curved disks to each other, or slathering some kind of pleasant-smelling oil on themselves, but for the most part, we had the entire shore to ourselves.

"Come here, then," Aximili said softly, gesturing me toward him with his head. His hands were otherwise engaged, holding the taut string of his homecrafted kite, rolled around a spool of flimsy cardboard.

Tension sparked through my abdomen, but it was not an undesirable kind. I dug my feet in the ground and pushed up, sinking a little, feeling the warmth overtake my feet.

"I do not think I will be very good at kite-flying," I admitted as he pulled the cylinder closer to the ground. "I don't tend to excel at delicate tasks."

"That I do not doubt, but you have my faith entirely, Jennor. Come here," he said, letting go with one hand and beckoning me to sidle right in front of him.

"Here," he said. "Take the spar." I slid my arm beneath his and grabbed the toilet paper roll.

A gust of wind tugged the roll out of my hand. I gripped it tightly, and Aximili's hand was still on it, fingers brushing over my hand as he slowly disengaged. His other arm slid around my naked waist, and those gushing aches returned with a vengeance, the rain beginning to wring from the clouds. "Do you think you have it?" His chin settled on my shoulder, and his voice pierced through my hair, tickling the inside of my ear.

A familiar heavy warmth settled into the base of my pelvis, rain and thunder cackling wickedly. It was overpowering at first, but slowly began to settle as the wind continued to caress palm fronds, the waves slowly stroked and teased at the shore, the sun slowly arched toward its climax.

I was suddenly very grateful for my poor taste in literature. "I think I do."

His hand slipped off the spar and trickled down my arm, my side, to my front. He interlaced his fingers in front of me and drew me close against him. His heart felt like a warm timpani against my shoulder blade.

We were silent for a few moments. Standing still. My knees had jellied long ago, my churning groin rampaging with such intensity that I almost doubled over, and if he hadn't been standing behind me, I would have collapsed in an incoherent, overcharged pile. But he was. And that only made it worse.

"You know, humans discovered properties of electricity using kites."

"Really?" I gasped, uninterested in the trivia, focused mostly on the cool breath in my ear and the fact that his hands continued to rove dangerously over my flesh.

"Yes, a human patriot flew a kite with a key attached in a lightning storm, gathering charge from the clouds above. Rather brave considering it could have killed him."

"Science is a worthy cause to die for," I responded, closing my eyes, as his fingertips curled and tugged at the drawstring of my sweatpants, thumb slipping behind the waistband.

"Of course, it took them slightly longer to discover the interdependence of electricity and magnetism. Such useful forces. They seem so different at first. Electricity is unpredictable, wild, deadly. But it can be tempered. You can direct it. You can control it. You can predict it. And it is always partnered with magnetism, just as strong, more predictable, less visible. Pushing against it. Interwoven within it." Spikes of it emerged within me as his hand snaked down my arm and settled inside my fingers. His lips pushed through my hair, brushing against the edge of my ear. "You cannot have one without the other, you see. They're different manifestations of the same force. They work against each other, and with each other, inseparable and complete."

The breath in my chest failed as a renewed gust of wind pushed the kite higher. The spar slipped from my fingers.

"Oh," I moaned in something that was not totally disappointment, pulling from his arms to grab it, but his fingers wrapped around my upper arm and pulled me back.

"It's all right, Jennor. Let it go."

He gathered me close and wrapped his arms just above the waistband of my pants. Mine slid above his shoulders. His lips grazed mine and soon found purchase in a slow, deep kiss, making us inseparable and complete.

(Where is the screaming?) Terenia's voice rang out in my head, and for a moment I thought that was the dream, and I was home, on Earth, and I would open my eyes to find latticing tree branches concealing a shocking blue sky, a warm, masculine arm around my shoulder. I opened my eyes. I was sweating, Andalite grass on my face, human hand in front of me.

(Sir, I believe you pressed the pleasure transponder.)

(Ah, yes, thank you, Sub-Visser. Pleasure. My mistake.)

An exhale rattled out of my lips. I was trembling. I glanced up at her. She was smiling. It had been no mistake.

(Look to where her hand flees, Nagrit. Look to where the coward escapes.) An unexpected strategy, but I understood immediately. My hand was lodged deep between my legs, attempting to break loose all of the crackling tension roiled there. It worked without my command. It worked on hers.

She not only controlled my suffering. She controlled my relief.

She pressed a red button.

Lightning spread through me, every nerve ending was engaged with shaking, burning, searing pain, drawing connections from clavicle to knee cap, tongue to toe, left fingers to right. I tried to scream, but no sound could escape my mouth, my muscles were locked, on the verge of explosion, if that was the only way to release the horrible, blinding energy.

(See, Gothmoor? See how pretty I promised she would be?)


	68. Chapter Twenty Seven: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

Panic surged through me. Trainer's thoughts were some terrifying mixture of relief and rage. And Gothmoor, a warrior I had greatly admired not twenty minutes before, was too immediately happy to justify such a look of distant curiosity. My lungs were ready to burst, sweat poured down my face and flanks. I was on the verge of collapse, but the need to be alert and on guard was greater now than ever.

The battle had been an exhausting affair. I didn't usually slip up so much. A Hork-Bajir had nearly disemboweled me, followed by a mad, courageous Taxxon who had taken an excruciating bite from my flank. I'd decapitated him, as much as you can decapitate a Taxxon, and watched as my freshly dead haunch slipped out of his esophagus and splattered on the ground. Neither the Hork-Bajir nor the Taxxon had survived, but it had happened near the beginning of the battle and had shaken me up.

I was not prepared for this.

My Shredder was too far away, I couldn't grab it. He'd told me to take off my holster, to step away. I had done so, stupidly, without question, still thinking about that smooth gob of shiny matter slipping down to the ground and disintegrating into chunks of clotted blood. Trainer had set himself right between. I had only my speed and tail blade to count on, neither of which currently had my confidence.

(Pretty, sure. A little young. Hasn't quite filled out yet.)

(Well, with wars, you make do with what you've got.)

(Stay away,) I warned. I twitched my tail blade, backing against a large rock on a faraway asteroid. Fast breaths made my energy filter hum and flash. I flung my stalk eyes around, looking for help. Anybody. But everyone else had gone. We'd waited around, just for this. I could see the small transport parked about fifty yards away, the one Trainer had borrowed specifically for this. I'd asked if I could leave without him. He said he'd give me something nice if I waited.

(A little fight in her,) Gothmoor laughed. (I suppose that makes up for it.)

Gothmoor was a good fighter. He'd saved my life on the battlefield at least once that I knew about. He always told stories about his family's _illsipar_ farm in the transports to and from battles. He smiled a lot. I depended on that smile. Something about his smile gave me more hope than any positive news report, compliment from Trainer, or even glorified personal accomplishment. A part of me had loved him as an ally.

And all of me feared him as an enemy.

I struck. He was still too far away to hit, but I hadn't meant to hit him. I was still convinced this could end without bloodshed, without any crime. We could all just walk away.

(Yes,) he laughed again, approaching as surely as if I hadn't done anything, (A little fight indeed.)

I narrowed my eyes, got in fighting stance. I didn't want to kill him, but I would if I had to.

I felt something sharp against my throat. I hadn't even been watching Trainer. I looked over at him, a feeling of unjustified betrayal coursing through me.

(What is this, sir?) I asked.

(I protect you, Jennor. I keep you safe. Now you have to do your part. Gothmoor heard us two nights ago, in our scoop. You remember then? You thought it prudent to buck up and throw me from your back for whatever stupid reason you females have for doing such things. I crashed three feet from him, hidden only by the flimsy canvas of our scoop. He didn't go to Porrolack, he came to me. I thought we could handle it like adults, so we are.)

(I will kill him, then,) I vowed, pulling away from his tail blade. Gothmoor laughed.

(No, Jennor. You will do something else. And I am sure that is all he will ask for, since his crimes now match ours.)

(Oh yes, Tuxebi. You'll hear nothing more from me.)

Gothmoor was big. Hooves left prints as wide as handprints, hitting the ground heavily enough to send tremors through my shins. Muscles rippled as he advanced, bunched up and ready to unleash all their fury. I could feel heat radiating off of him as he stepped closer. I could smell his sweat.

He grabbed me by the back of the neck and pushed me up against the rock like I was made of air. (If you strike me, I'll kill you. I've got a better angle anyway.)

I grabbed the rock as hard as I could. I cut my hands on the sharp edges, and dust mingled in the wounds.

I opened my eyes. Vomit was dripping down my chin. I tried to breathe, but sobs and gags interrupted it.

Knots twisted inside of me, in places I didn't even know knots could twist. The pain was still there, quieted, echoing. I don't know how long she'd held down that button. My eyes were blurred with tears and shock. I wondered if I was bleeding.

I blinked them, and Terenia's face filled up all of my vision. Her nose was centimeters from mine.

(Hologram deceptions,) she said.

I'd have vomited again if there was anything left to vomit. But I held my breath and didn't move at all, focusing instead on the pain that was quickly flowing from my nerves.

(That's what she said, Nagrit. Isn't it?)

(Hologram deceptions,) he agreed.

"I…" I said.

(And what else did she say?)

(Compromised air filters, sabotaged Dracon cannons, remote distress signal,) Nagrit recited. (Something else, though. Forgive me, sir.)

(I think it was "Earth task force,") the Empress said. (But the way she said "hologram deceptions…")

"So what?" I gasped, tasting blood at the back of my throat. "Do any of your prisoners lie in wait without making desperate plans?"

(Of course not. But I assumed the purpose of those plans was to be secret.)

I shrugged indifferently, swallowing back blood and bile and phlegm. (We will just have to think of more, I suppose.)

(Well, then we better scramble your brains to prevent them.) She signaled Nagrit and he punched the red button again, until I was sure every blood vessel in my body had burst.

She pressed alternate blue and red buttons until the pleasure and pain was confused, until Aximili disgusted me and Tuxebi excited me. I shouted nonsense to her, excuses, confessions, each less creative than the last. She pressed each button until I considered doing anything to make her stop, giving myself over to the Yeerks, verifying that I had emitters, that Noorlin, Trylast and Isstarim were betraying her right now. But she always stopped at the threshold of my self-control. Either it was more elastic than I thought, or something in her couldn't bear to see me crumple so soon.

But whatever was keeping me from cracking, I knew it wasn't my strength.

She unshackled me, told me to demorph. I did so without question. The Hork-Bajir grabbed my arms and tail. I didn't resist. They brought me back to my cell. When they left, Noorlin asked me if I was all right.

(Let me out of here,) I said. Noorlin came over and obeyed. I felt a flush of nausea when his face came into view, his kind face hiding such terrible crimes and dishonor. Just like his son. I couldn't look at him. I pushed past, surprised by the holographic Hork-Bajir guard. I struck my tail and he ducked.

(The Yeerk has died, Jennor,) he said. Weak nausea continued to spread through my shins.

(What?) I spat.

(The Hork-Bajir. He's free.)

I brushed past him rudely to the spare cell. A large Hork-Bajir stood there, not slouched like the infested ones, not cocked and ready to launch. He stood straight and tall. Nonthreatening. He smiled, like the free Hork-Bajir did on Earth.

"My name Putt," he said.

(I am Jennor,) I responded. (Putt, do you understand what we've done?)

"Andalite free Putt," he responded.

(Yes, we have. But now you have a responsibility.)

"What Putt do?"

(You need to act like your Yeerk, Putt. You need to pretend to be a Yeerk.)

"Putt not Yeerk," he said.

(Yes, I know,) I seethed. (You have to do what your Yeerk did, you have to pretend.)

"Putt not Yeerk!"

(Noorlin, explain it to him. Don't release him until you're sure he understands.)

I walked over to the door and pressed my hands against it. Then I listened as hard as I could. I strained my mind, and I could see flashes, but it wasn't enough. I listened harder, I reached deeply within the creature standing inches away yet entirely remote, guarded by this inane titanium door. I strained until my neck convulsed and my nose bled. I strained until I thought I'd heard enough.

I started morphing Cristex. I hadn't realized it until then, but he was younger than me now.

(What are you doing, Jennor?) Noorlin asked.

(I'm getting our next prisoner.)

(Jennor, wait. Trylast and Isstarim and I—)

I left the brig. The Hork-Bajir guard standing by the door seemed confused.

"When did you go in there?"

(You admit to inattention, then?) I spat.

"What's your name?"

I continued walking.

"Stop, Andalite! Stop, or I'll shoot!"

I turned around. (I've seen you, Tissil 443. I've seen the way you handle a Dracon Beam. You couldn't hit me if I was five meters away.)

"How did you—"

(Leave this conversation private and I will not inform the Empress how poorly you guard the prisoners.)

I continued down the hallway, unsure of what to do next, but I knew exactly where I was headed.

I had to find my father.

All of the confusion spawned from today's torture had left one clear spot in my mind. And in that spot was his face, and I could see the direct line from there to my hearts, the voltage and power drawn from his image to my soul. It didn't matter what she'd said about him, all lies or exaggerations. It wasn't true. I knew the truth. My cellmates were good allies, but I needed my father. I needed him to tell me I was doing well, I needed his expertise and advice. For so long he had been my teacher, my guide, my mentor. Now he could be my colleague. My ally. My commanding officer. My prince. And he could tell me how good I was, that he was proud of me, that he loved…

My male head was clouded and distinct now, not open like mine, so I couldn't listen for him, couldn't let my sense guide me to his cell. But I did feel something guiding me, a force, pulling me towards quarters at the end of the shaft.

A door opened just to my right.

(Oh, sorry, didn't see you,) A tall Andalite Controller with green eyes said.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped in front of him and shepherded him back into his quarters. With the tip of my blade, I tapped the control panel of his door so it slid shut.

(I'm sorry, you're in my—)

I struck.

It was still harder to fight in the male form, but I'd had much practice. I struck forward, over my head, stretching the bottom of my tail, and forced him back to the corner of his cell. I struck at his stalk eyes, his head. He blocked, throwing his arms up in the way like an amateur. He screamed. He shouted. I kept striking, and he hit me, and I didn't care. I kept striking, and he started heaving, he lost his footing, he tripped.

I hit him in the head. Once. Then again. Then a third time, until even the blunt end of my tail blade cut through his thin scalp.

I couldn't hear him breathe. I didn't know if he was alive or dead. For a moment, I didn't really care either way. I morphed to human. I pulled two spare emitters free from my sweater, their new hiding place, now stained in vomit and blood. I demorphed, pressed my hands against his face, and, in an act so intimate and violating that he'd kill me if he were conscious, read until I discovered his name, his occupation aboard the vessel, any other detail that seemed relevant. Then I held one emitter against my forehead, programming every contingency I could into it. He'd stay in his quarters until summoned. He'd say that he wasn't feeling well if anyone came for him. If they pushed the issue, he'd tell them that he had permission directly from the Empress. He'd be able to perform any of his duties remotely, from within the room. He was nauseated and shivering. He didn't want to infect anyone else.

I stepped back and conjured the hologram. The unconscious body disappeared from view. The hologram stood tall, green-eyed. Sort of haughty, in an uninterested way. Beterat had been on the economic advising board of the Electorate. He was very rich, very influential. Brilliant. And a terrible warrior who had not granted any genetic favors to his twin warrior sons, both hopelessly missing in action.

(Oh sorry, didn't see you,) it said.

(The Empress expects you on the bridge,) I said.

(I applied for sick leave for a few days. Some kind of stomach bug. Quite uncomfortable.)

(I'm quite sure she insists.)

(Check with the records. Oh, on second thought, it may not be filed yet. Requests for sick leave are low priority, especially in this pitiful new infrastructure. I tell you, if she knew who my host was, she would—)

I smiled and raised my hands to stop him. Good enough.

I walked through the hologram, to the breathing form, pushed up against the back of the quarters. So he was alive. Fine. I hit him again in the head. Noorlin would have to come by and inject him with something a little more potent. Fine.

I morphed to Cristex again, the form I had once promised myself I'd never return to. Maybe next time I'd morph Trainer. Maybe I could be in control of him now.

I sauntered back to the brig, sheathed in invisibility. I had to wait for someone from the outside to open the door, so I could scuttle back home.

Home. A cage on an old Andalite ship commandeered by the Yeerks. A little, cold cell, with bad grass I couldn't eat and a humming force field that didn't keep me imprisoned, and three complaining roommates.

The door opened, and I stepped inside. I felt a little empty. I felt a little ashamed, giving into the torture like that. This was only the beginning. I was building an army, and she was taking me apart, memory by memory, nerve ending by nerve ending. I didn't know which would be completed first. Maybe both, simultaneously. Maybe neither. I felt a surge of helplessness, hopelessness, and emptiness suck away all of my motivation. All of my strength. All of my power.

It didn't last long. But I knew that it would come back, more powerful, less resistant. It would learn my weaknesses. It would seep into every crack and crevice that she caused, and soon it would overtake me. I didn't know when it would happen, but it would. There was a time limit.

I could lose.

I stepped into my cell when the custodian left. Noorlin came over and turned on the force field. I was trapped.

But I was not alone.


	69. Chapter Twenty Eight: The Empress

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The Empress

PART ONE OF THREE

(Tell me what you think about the female.)

The uninfestable Andalite named Trylast was shackled before me, twitching and panicked. He'd developed a tic that caused him to self-mutilate, and a large, tapered section of his fur had been plucked away, leaving bumpy, irritated, sweat-soaked skin. He looked scrawny and exhausted. But he was smiling.

(What female?)

(The girl, the Andalite staying in the brig with you.)

He laughed a little, indulging that inexcusable Andalite smugness. I nodded to a Hork-Bajir at the controls, who twisted a dial. Electricity sprang through him, making him uncanny, inhuman. His limbs twisted and warped like burning paper, his eyes widened, the smug devolved to horror. I waved the Hork-Bajir down.

He was still for a moment, but then his tail blade twitched alive. (If you hate her so much, you should just kill her,) he said. (It annoys me when she screams.)

(Why would I do something that keeps me from hurting her and annoying you at the same time?) I nodded at the Hork-Bajir again, and the Andalite convulsed, bending and cracking against his will, tail flailing like a bullwhip or lasso anchored by chains. The Hork-Bajir turned the power down, and he recovered, shivering before me, catching his breath, smiling with his stalk eyes.

(I suppose you make a good point, Yeerk.)

(I can make all of this end if you submit,) I offered in my most comforting feminine voice. (The sleep deprivation, the concrete in your hooves. I will even give you quarters so you don't have to listen when I torture her.)

(At the price of your filth in my head?)

(Well, those are the terms.)

(Keep the amps coming, Yeerk,) he said to the Hork-Bajir. I shrugged and consented.

His tail blade was charred and grooved when I finished, like the dregs left after a campfire. One of his stalk eyes had burst. He was unconscious. Unconvinced. Useless. I sighed. My conditioning regimen had not succeeded. I still did not understand why they could not be infested, and I still wanted to keep them alive, but it was getting harder to resist finishing them.

It had been three weeks since Jennor had boarded my vessel. And I still could not kill her.

There had been marvelous developments, of course. The first few days were encouraging, as her body succumbed to the hunger and exhaustion: her eyes dull, dragging long black rings beneath them, her breath shallow, her hands and tail wobbly and uncertain. Then her body adjusted, beginning to feed on itself, contenting to strip flesh from beneath her skin and turn it to sustenance. I imagined how long it had taken her to build those muscles, only for them to decompose right in front of her. She'd devolved into a carnivore.

She wasn't quite emaciated yet, but there were auspicious signs. Her wrist bones stuck out prominently, her hands were like frosted glass skeletons. When she inhaled, the skin on her cheeks sunk well into their frames, two little hollow grooves that made me smile, that suited her. She was turning gray and lifeless, but she wasn't dead yet.

I began to visit her in her cell more often than I tortured her. Sometimes alone, mostly with Nagrit, usually with a contingent of Hork-Bajir. The torture was becoming monotonous, predictable. Routine. I had to keep her uncertain, afraid. I had to change course.

I used her father sparingly. I knew how effective he was, but I didn't want her to grow accustomed to his presence. I also wasn't sure I trusted Sub-Visser 11 to completely control Sofor. Terenia was right; he was immensely powerful, too strong contain in the event that…no, it was better to keep him as a back-up weapon, something she would anticipate, not expect. I didn't know how long it would take to weaken her all the way, and I didn't want her to grow accustomed to anything.

Mostly, when I came without the intention of torturing her, I watched. Fed the same drugs that made sleep impossible, Jennor sometimes retreated to her human form, which I had stripped of clothing a couple weeks before. It was this reason that I stopped ordering the Hork-Bajir to keep her from morphing—if she was going to surrender herself to a weaker body, who was I to stop her?

It was also far too cold on the ship for that form. The Andalite homeworld rarely got warmer than seventy degrees, and I kept the ship a balmy fifty-two. Perhaps that was why she did it. Acclimating herself to constant discomfort so the torture was not such a jarring change was a novel solution, but it made her look like a sick animal, all curled within herself in the corner of her cage.

I brainstormed with Nagrit about what we could do to ensure that Jennor did not plateau. Despite all of my expertise, I had no surefire solution to this problem. The longest I'd ever tortured a single prisoner before was ten days, and even those final hours were marked by tedium.

(Whippings, burnings, water boardings, these things are all standard,) he said. (It does not matter what we use. Barbed metal lashes, pliers to pull free her fingernails, electrocutions, it's all temporary. Anything we do to her will be morphed away once we are finished. Nothing is permanent. Andalites are tricky torture victims.)

(We could force her into one morph. Human. Another Andalite, it doesn't matter.)

(After we tamed the uninfestables, we threatened that. They would rather die than lose that power.)

(I didn't want to do it to the uninfestables,) I sighed. (If they're ever made into hosts, they'd be useless as _nothlits._ It doesn't have to come to that yet for them. But we don't need their permission, Nagrit, and we don't need hers. We have the means to compel them.)

Nagrit's face was blank at first, but his eyes curved shortly into a smile.

(We should have done this weeks ago.)

(Perhaps. But perhaps it will work even better now.)

(I doubt it will remove the protection she has,) Nagrit speculated. (It won't mean we can kill her.)

(It just means she will feel the torture from days ago compounded with whatever we do to her today. Soreness from yesterday can be much worse than the sting from today.)

(We still need more, though. Physical pain alone won't destroy her.)

(She responded well to my speculation about her father,) I said.

(Yes, that was...effective.)

I watched him for a moment. He avoided eye contact, scanning the ceiling with his stalk eyes. I reached for his hand.

(What's wrong?)

(Something strange came over you.)

(When?)

(It's not important. Never mind.)

(Tell me,) I said, pulling him toward me. He brushed his knuckles against my cheek.

(You weren't yourself. Something dark came over you from inside, stretching up and out...it wasn't you, Terliss.)

I looked away. I knew what he was referring to, but what could I say? I didn't understand it either. I knew it wasn't new, but I knew whatever had activated it was. He was right, it wasn't mine, but I knew that I needed it. I didn't know if I liked it.

(I can't trash her father forever,) I sighed, releasing his hand. (He's too easy a target. There has to be more.)

(You made me start, and I don't want to stop talking about this yet, Terliss.)

I looked back up at him. He didn't usually redirect conversations. Technically, he couldn't. It was an indulgence protected by rank that I abused often. But I didn't want to start an argument that would end with me asserting authority over him.

(I don't know that I'm free, Nagrit,) I admitted. (I don't know that I am myself, or that I ever was.)

(What do you mean?)

(There's always been something more within me, a foreign power that weighs heavily inside me...I'm not sure I can control it. It sleeps, mostly. It wakes to warn me, or to empower me, but only when I need it. I always thought it was a gift, but now...)

It gave an angry splash inside my stomach. I couldn't talk about it anymore.

(Terliss, are you all right?)

(We need to focus on Jennor. You're right. It is unwise to depend on whatever physical discomfort we subject her to coupled with the trauma from becoming a _nothlit_ to undo her. We need something more.)

(The Trainer?)

(Too easy. She'll be expecting that.)

(What about her mother?)

(Jennor never knew her. I don't see how that's relevant.)

(Just because she didn't know her doesn't mean she doesn't matter.)

(So we'll try. We'll find everything about her that we can. We need a contingency plan if it doesn't work.)

(The boy.)

(Has there been headway on that front?)

(Visser Three has sent scouts into the forest surrounding the location of the scoop,) Nagrit reported, (but he hasn't found anything. No new evidence of an Andalite living there. He seems to have moved on.)

(Perhaps,) I said. (I'm not sure, though. Let him continue to look. The longer we can stretch out his search, the more foolish we make him look.) Though I was relieved that Visser Three had failed so far in a task so vital to his political competency, I was not entirely happy with the news.

(And in the meantime, what shall we do with Jennor?)

I stared out the window of my quarters, looking down at the rainbow rings that swam above the Dome Ship like a rushing, iridescent current. Colors that reminded me of something in Terenia's memory, something sweet and pleasurable. Earth candy had such bright colors.

(Terenia?) I said to the girl. She didn't respond. She hadn't said anything in weeks. She lay limp and voiceless when I fed. All the information in her brain sat as organized and accessible as ever, but none of the life sparked behind it. I found myself a little worried about her.

(Food,) I said to Nagrit.

(I don't follow,) he confessed.

(She's starving, Nagrit, and we can use that. We'll turn her into a human. We'll punish her for her indulgence of their culture, for retreating to that form rather than standing up in her own.)

(Indulgence?)

(The candy wrappers in the scoop,) I laughed. (The underwear. The junk food. Andalites don't have mouths.)

(Clearly,) Nagrit said.

(Do you miss taste, Nagrit? Do you miss eating through your Hork-Bajir mouth?)

(I hadn't really noticed,) he admitted.

(But Terenia did. For months after she became a _nothlit_, the only thing she missed from Earth was her weekly chocolate malt and Lucky Charms. Having it taken away is one thing, but imagine never having it, and then...)

(Having it?) Nagrit offered.

(I want a ship sent to Earth. Bring a feast back. I want it in my quarters in two days.)

(Yes, sir.)

Yes. Andalites, so strict and serious in their domestic culture, I could definitely see them crippling into addiction on Earth. Maybe that's why they liked exploring so much. Profess a morally, technologically superior galactic role just to engage in all of the hedonistic pleasures of the various alien planets, claiming ignorance if you offend local taboos. They weren't such a difficult species to figure out, when it came right down to it.

And what hedonism Earth could offer…my mind traveled through Terenia's past: hopscotch, board games, water slides, cotton candy…and pleasures so great they become horrors, became murderers, yes, bent spoons and rubber tubes and—

(And, Nagrit? Drugs. Lots and lots of human drugs, legal and otherwise. We'll force her into a human form and then punish her with the very escapes she so desperately needed.)

I may not have been able to control her with a Yeerk, but that wasn't the only means to control someone. If she could give in to human pleasures so willingly, it wouldn't be difficult to force her to continue. She had a metabolism, she had a libido, she had the same urgent need for comfort and companionship that all social species do. And if I could control those urges, those desires, if I could gain power over them as surely as infesting her, what atrocities could I compel her to commit? In what ways could she be forced to use those functions? No, not forced. Choice would be both implicit and ultimately forfeited. She would have to make the only choice she could.

I felt good about this new plan, but I knew there was more to do. We spent some time gathering information about Jennor's mother. There wasn't much. She wasn't military, so she didn't have a personnel file, but we found sparse evidence, small hints. A birth certificate. School registration. She had quit before she finished. Some searches brought up classified databases. I wondered what they were, why the computer had obtained them, but they were as protected and inaccessible as everything else. Nagrit's host couldn't recognize what they were either.

It had been almost a day since we'd worked on her, so I decided to retrieve her shortly after, and at least get her started on the plan. She was Andalite when we arrived at her cell, unaware that it would be the last time she'd ever spend in that form. She was standing, but one of her hooves kept sliding away from her body. It gave the impression of a human nodding off to sleep. Her stalk eyes and tail hung low. I felt the arrogant inclination to let her out of the cell without any Hork-Bajir guards, taunt her and watch her fail. But I quieted it. Something told me there was strength in her yet.


	70. Chapter Twenty Eight: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

We made our way out of the brig. One Hork-Bajir was on her tail, and another held a Dracon Beam to her temple.

The hallway wasn't very crowded as we made our way to my quarters. We passed a couple of Andalite engineers, discussing a floating three-dimensional set of plans as they walked, Hork-Bajir sentry guards making the rounds, an Andalite botanist checking the health of the hallway sod with various instrumentation. They all bowed graciously, respectfully as we passed. And I didn't care.

My greatest enemy was disintegrating in front of me. And my greatest love…

He and I walked parallel, his warm shadow to my right, just behind the two Hork-Bajir and Jennor. His hand was inches from mine, and I felt a foolish and silly desire to brush it with my fingertips, like a schoolgirl with an unindulgable crush. I smiled at him every couple of seconds. We'd spent so long together, and still the love in my heart was as fresh and overwhelming as when I'd confessed it fifteen years ago. For a moment I felt like the single luckiest person in the galaxy. My persona full of power and success, my heart full of love, and—

I glanced again. His eyes had changed. They were poisoned with rage and hate, a burning, radiating contempt pouring from a source I immediately identified, a source that denial had kept me from acknowledging. The comforting shell of my Nagrit had splintered.

And Vaxidun had broken through.

I felt my stomach drop out from beneath me.

Vaxidun stopped, planting his back legs firmly in the ground, charging his tail full of energy. My head reeled, a voice inside of me was screaming "no, no, no!" but I could not move, I could only stare in shock as the scene played out in extreme slow motion, like a bullet liquefying an apple.

He struck. I only barely blocked. The force was enough to throw me to my knees. I could feel the quivering excitement and rage in his strong tail muscles, the ecstatic feeling that comes with the fulfillment of desperate plans that hibernate too long. I could feel his total disregard for consequences, that Andalite hate that burned so brightly it could only collapse back in on itself like a singularity. I could feel his certainty. I could feel his power.

I could see that he was going to win.

He was an Andalite warrior, skilled and smart enough to be assigned to the bridge of a Dome Ship. I was a stupid human girl who got caught at the wrong place and time eighteen years ago. It would be no challenge.

He pushed hard against my tail, herding me into the wall, and I pushed back, but I was weak. He lifted the weight of his tail off of mine like it was nothing, cranking it high into the air, reloading for a fatal stroke. He was not fighting for advantage, for sport, for pleasure. He was not employing advanced tactics. He did not need them. I saw where he was aiming, and I was too slow, too unconditioned. I wouldn't make it. He would meet his mark, and I would die.

As that flush of bargaining, fear, and finally acceptance washed through me, a large, pink tail blade blocked him.

I stumbled to the ground and glanced ahead of me. Jennor's two guards were tangled in a pile, one without a hand. She had whipped around, poised and small and cranked like a rubber band, rushing to intercept Nagrit and protect me.

I scrambled back, watched them spar. He was massive, puffed out, strong, ideal. Glistening in the soft lighting, lines and edges and bulges of muscle coiling and jerking and bunching. She was so small and thin and childlike, but bursting with that same power I'd understood so clearly so long ago, twitching with small doses of nuclear energy in its purest form. She was a worthy challenge, but he had the advantage. His hooves weren't cemented shut, he'd slept last night. I'd been there. He'd breathed easy.

(Foolish girl!) He cried out as she blocked another blow. She stepped forward, nudging him against the bulkhead with her shoulder, hooves scrabbling, leaving fleshy scores through the dirt, an ant pushing a kernel of corn. But it worked. She'd taken away the advantage of his long-limbed, spanning strength, holding him back with every shred of resistance she could. He couldn't charge a full blow. He bucked up and lunged forward to push her back, but she held up her arms to absorb the shock as their tails clattered expertly over their heads. Her hooves found deep purchase in the ground and she furrowed through it like a plow. She wrapped her arms around his waist to hoist him down, and when he landed, she pushed her shoulder in to his chest and grabbed his throat. The fury in his eyes doubled. He slammed his tail against hers, pinning it into the wall, coiling and winding and charging for a final blow, but she wrapped hers around the base of his with more dexterity and prehensility than I thought possible.

They continued to struggle in the limited space, heaving and sweating, and the results of their chaos echoed around us. They were both weakening faster than they should have. Jennor was starved and exhausted, crumbling to her knees, and Nagrit was winning the struggle against Vaxidun for control, legs and arms giving sudden flails and kicks as he commandeered them. Her blows came in slow, undisciplined, sloppy. His were sharp, but jerky and interrupted. I watched, pressed up against the wall, about twenty feet away, catching my breath and trying not to cry. I composed myself as they both stumbled apart. One of the Hork-Bajir had regained himself and shoved Jennor into the opposite wall, slamming her face into the bulkhead so she stumbled, dazed. Nagrit fell into his side, hand on his head, clutching his breast.

The other handless Hork-Bajir slowly made his way to his feet. He stepped over cautiously and scooped me up beneath the arm. (Get more guards before you get that reattached,) I said to him. He nodded, tucking his bloody limb under the opposite shoulder, clutching the dead hand in his live one.

The Hork-Bajir held his wrist blade against Jennor's throat, and she conceded. She put her hands up in a familiar but pointless display of human surrender, dropped her tail to the ground in a more potent Andalite one. She was wheezing.

I breathed in deep and held my breath, smothering the sobs. I walked up to them slowly. Turned to stare at her with my main eyes, watching Nagrit with my stalk eyes.

(Go to the medical bay and get something to calm down your host,) I told him privately.

(Terliss, I'm so sorry, I don't know how—)

(We got arrogant, Nagrit.)

(He'd been silent for days, I thought—)

(I know, Nagrit. Go take the rest of the day off.)

(Terliss, please don't be afraid, please don't look at me like that.)

I turned my stalk eye away. I didn't want to look at him at all. There was weakness in his eyes that validated Vaxidun's successful coup. I did not want to admit that perhaps Nagrit was too weak to handle his host.

(Rest, Nagrit. I'll meet you in my quarters at 2200.)

He got up slowly, using the wall to anchor himself as he rose to his hooves. He touched my shoulder before he left. I had to shut my eyes to keep from reacting any worse.

Jennor was watching the whole time. I expected her to be smug, defiant, like that uninfestable. Unwilling to allow me to quash her pride. She wasn't. She watched me without emotion.

(Do you think protecting me is going to earn you favor? Do you think I'm going to go easy on you today?)

(I wasn't protecting you,) she said, still wheezing, a small wound in her neck where the Hork-Bajir was holding her.

Three more Hork-Bajir sprinted down the hallway in tight formation, Dracon beams raised. They tackled her when they arrived and flung her to the ground, T-Rex feet pinning her flanks, arms folded behind her, tail flaccid but tightly gripped across the arms of two of them.

(Bring her to my quarters; I'll be there shortly.) The Hork-Bajir marched her away.

I didn't go to my quarters. I didn't know where to go. I shivered in the middle of the hallway for a while, without my normal contingent of Hork-Bajir, without my assistant. Without my power. How cruelly appropriate to feel so helpless, empty, and alone when I'd just convinced myself I was so full of everything I had ever wanted. I felt more isolated than I ever had as Empress, so alone that I pressed my hand against my gut and tried to activate the snake manually. It didn't budge. This pointless complication was not worthy of its interest.

I remembered when Nagrit and I had been nervous about the possibility of assassination after I'd made my address to the Empire. I would never have imagined that an attempt would have come from someone in such a trusted and intimate position.

For the few days since Terenia's absolute surrender, Nagrit and I speculated that perhaps Terenia was the only motivation behind Vaxidun's constant resistance. He'd been silent for days. Perhaps her submission had inspired the same in him. Perhaps his final support had been kicked out from under him. I hoped that this stupid, selfish concern, our hosts' cooperation in our affair, was finally over. It was a fool's hope, and even I knew it, due to the worried look in Nagrit's eye. But I was weak, tired, confused, and frustrated, so I let myself believe it.

I very nearly surrendered my own life for cheap denial.

I wanted to take a shuttle and go to Earth to get a chocolate malt. I wanted to run. I wanted to leave the ship, leave the war, leave all worry behind. I got as far as the shuttle bay before turning back. I couldn't do that. I could be weak and imperfect, but I couldn't let it affect my leadership. That was unacceptable. I allowed myself a few moments of dry sobs in the seclusion of the shuttle bay, comforting myself pathetically by curling into a vague fetal position, before I regained composure and left.

A few Andalite Controllers stopped to ask me if I was all right. Political opportunists; they sickened me. I brushed them off. Tried to plan through all of the murky adrenaline and doubt. I needed this not to comfort her. I needed this not to affect the power dynamic. I needed this turn of events to have consequences for her. I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do, but I knew I needed back-up that would distract her.

I went to the weapon's locker, found Sub-Visser 11, and made my way to my quarters with him.

Jennor was inside, pressed up against the bay window, bruise pulsing around her left eye, a Dracon Beam nestled under her chin, vindictive Hork-Bajir guard reciting a familiar threat about blood boiling and evaporating in the vacuum of space, stalk eyes popping like party favors. She seemed unmoved, and watched only me as I approached her. She glared when Sub-Visser 11 walked in behind me. Her stalk eye was pointed at the opposite wall.

Nagrit was standing there.

(I will put this insubordination in your permanent record if you don't leave now,) I said to him, too hard.

(I need to talk to you, just for a moment, Terliss. So you don't make a mistake.)

(If she so much as breathes too hard, blow her out the window,) I ordered the Hork-Bajir, who growled and grinned in response. Sub-Visser 11's eyes followed me as I led Nagrit just outside the quarters.

(What is it?) I snapped. (If you apologize again, I'll—)

(Don't turn her into a _nothlit,_) he said.

(Why?)

(She grabbed my throat, Terliss. Her hands were cold.)

(So what?)

He sighed, silently berating himself, as he did often. (You said Jennor could see Terenia's memories, correct? That they had some sort of telepathic connection?)

(Yes,) I said, unsure.

(Yes. She's an Hermilian, then.)

(What are you talking about?)

(It doesn't matter. I'll explain later. Just don't turn her into a _nothlit. _Not yet.) He turned in the direction of the medical bay. (I'll see you at 2200.)

I headed back inside. The Hork-Bajir were etching little images into her flesh, three holding her still while the other mused about _chiaroscuro_.

(Release her,) I said.

(Is your assistant all right?) She asked, blood running down her legs.

(You saw him,) I said.

(Yes. I didn't mean to hurt him.)

(You didn't.)

(Good.) She winced as a blade scored the side of her belly.

(If it's so easy for you, why don't you just tear through these Hork-Bajir?)

(It would take time.)

(You behave yourself because it takes too much time not to?)

(They grow sloppy if I behave.)

I watched her carefully, and she watched back. Unblinking. Sub-Visser 11 watched with a single stalk eye that seemed independently weak and afraid, as the rest of him stood tall and emotionless.

(You're right. They have grown sloppy,) I said. I walked over to her, knelt beside her, and traced the cuts with my finger. (Is that supposed to be a Taxxon?)

(Can we get on with it?) Jennor sighed.

(Such impatience,) I responded. (All right. Gather her up, we're bringing her back to the brig.)

(I thought you said you weren't going easy on me.)

(I'm not.)


	71. Chapter Twenty Eight: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

When we reached the brig, I ordered the guard within to release each of the prisoners. They looked confused for a moment, but I silently assured them their lives were not at risk.

I allowed Jennor to enter first and followed behind her, flanked by my two guards. The small brig was now crowded, but I made sure Sub-Visser 11 would have an excellent viewing perspective for the following events.

(What is the meaning of this?) Noorlin asked. The other two uninfestables emerged in front of him, searching for an opportunity in the strange situation I'd delivered to them.

(I've never formally introduced any of you,) I began, (which is incredibly rude of me. Now, of course, I am familiar with most socially acceptable Andalite greetings and introductions, but since this is no longer an Andalite ship, I thought we could do something a little different. A little more intimate. Compared to you Andalites, we Yeerks are defined by intimacy, and now this is a Yeerk ship. Jennor, please introduce yourself to each of your cellmates by giving them a kiss on the cheek.)

(What?) She gasped.

(That is foul, Yeerk. You don't need to do that, Jennor.)

(I'm not asking,) I said. The Hork-Bajir beside me raised their Dracon beams.

Trylast laughed nervously. (What's the problem, anyway? Is this how you're torturing her today? I must say, Yeerk, I'm offended that you think we're so repulsive.) Noorlin turned a stalk eye and silenced him. He plucked out a few hairs nervously.

Jennor's eyes moved frantically, planning, pleading, hopeless. One turned to her father, but did not linger. She was trying to think of some way out of this, but she couldn't. She had no other choice. I watched her curiously. A part of me wished that I had waited for Nagrit to explain "Hermilian" to me fully. But I could tell that whatever it was, it was not going to go over well.

She wrung her hands together tightly. I almost ignored the gesture, then remembered what Nagrit said. Her hands were cold. That, in itself, seemed to be some kind of unique trait, an identifying mark. I couldn't let her go faking her true identity. I nodded to a Hork-Bajir and he walked forward, grabbing her roughly beneath the arm.

(Best to do it fast, Jennor,) I said. (Like a band-aid.)

Isstarim was closest to Jennor. The Hork-Bajir grabbed her and pushed her so she was directly below him. He yanked her hands apart, and she glared back at me. She reached slowly, clenching and uncoiling her hand, finally pressing it against the Andalite's face.

If there was a reaction, it was inconsequential. He seemed to smile a little more. Maybe a little less distantly. He was the strangest prisoner to torture, never screaming in thought speech, never begging or swearing, though he appeared more hurt and desperate than any of the others. It was like he was one step removed from everything. Perhaps it was a result of his illness.

She moved onto Trylast. He watched her curiously as she shirked in front of him, raising her frigid little fingers tentatively. I could tell they were conversing, which made her look more desperate and him more confused. She pressed the tips of her fingers against his temples, and his reaction was instantaneous.

(Get your filthy hands off of me!) He cried, striking at her with his tail. She blocked, but this time she was crowded, both by the Hork-Bajir holding her steady, and the tall Andalite still next to her. He backed up into Noorlin, who had attempted to leap to her aid, and held him back with his tail. There was a surge of sudden protest from Sub-Visser 11, but he looked at me and backed away respectfully.

(What are you doing, Trylast?) Noorlin cried. I smiled. This was more the reaction I had been hoping for.

Jennor did what she could with the limited space applied to her, but Trylast had the advantage. I'd removed the cement from his hooves before his torture began that morning, fed him enough to sustain his hunger. He had what limited strength I allowed him, and Jennor had already sapped hers defending me.

She stumbled to the ground, scrabbling against the wall. I hadn't fed her in days. This was more physical exertion than she'd experienced all week.

She blocked maybe a fifth of his blows, deflected most of the rest. Some, however, were perfect—unhindered, fast, well-aimed. Her flank, having only just scabbed over the Taxxon etching, was now soaked in sweat and blood. Noorlin kept trying to push past Isstarim, who was still keeping him back, but even that was unnecessary. The Hork-Bajir guarding Jennor had moved on to hold Noorlin still, massive hands clamped over his tiny shoulders.

Trylast finally calmed, not from exhaustion, but from guilt. I saw him bend into the wall, cover his head with his arms. (You manipulative snake,) he said to me, turning away from the girl, pushing behind the other two Andalites into his cell.

I moved over and stood above Jennor. She was injured badly, but that wasn't what made her look so pathetic. Her eyes had absorbed a look of defeat more potent than I'd ever seen in her before.

Yes. You don't save the Empress' life without paying for it dearly, little girl.

(You still have one salutation left, Jennor,) I said.

With perfect timing, the doctor pushed through, dropped to the ground, and began to examine her. While his eyes were occupied with her active wounds, prioritizing by severity, I pressed my tail blade into his throat.

(Not yet, Noorlin,) I whispered. He glared at me with his stalk eyes, main eyes still surveying the broken body before him.

(She's hurt, Yeerk, you've won. Let her be,) he said.

(You hurt her once before, and you fail to see that I can get you to hurt her again, as much as I want. Kiss him, Jennor, kiss him before I kill him.)

Her hand reached forward, and his eyes kept watching me. When her fingertips grazed his face, they closed in defeat.

I smiled as he focused on her, pulling my tail away. I certainly wouldn't stop him if he tried to kill her. She kept her fingers there as he glared, eyes now full of fury instead of resolve. He turned slightly away, as if seeing her before him was an affront to his vision. His tail twitched from his limited position on the ground, and for a moment I was sure he would strike, sure that he would end her ridiculous life so I didn't have to.

But then he peeled her hand from his face and wrapped it together in his. He spoke loudly enough so that everyone in the cell, and perhaps outside of it, could hear. (My occupation knows no prejudice,) he said. (When you leave, I shall help her, blood filth or no.)

Honor. Such a stupid habit for some Andalites. I didn't let the disappointment show on my face and shrugged. (Put her in her cell. If she regains enough strength, she'll morph the wounds. It will be difficult, though. Perhaps too difficult.) The Hork-Bajir came forward and lifted up her dripping form, opened the force field, and tossed her inside.

I stood before it as they walked out, made sure she could see me towering above her. I gestured for Sub-Visser 11 to stand next to me. His presence would be required for this next part. I glanced to my right, where she had lain. She'd lost a lot of blood already.

(You see, Jennor, it's not difficult. Not difficult to unveil your desperate secrets. Not difficult to exploit you as so many before you have been used. You think this is original suffering? You think you're the first to be employed by a greater force, simply because of your physical attributes? You're wrong. Not only have you yourself gone through this before—yes, you already know how to deliver that pleasure. What you don't realize is that you were predestined for it. Genetically gifted. Did your father ever tell you why you had no mother? Did you ever wonder why that subject was taboo?)

I felt the sub-Visser tense beside me, but I didn't react.

(I don't care,) she breathed.

(Ah, now that's a lie, and you know it. I don't expect you to accept it. You already know how little you mattered to your father, but it's important for you to know why. You were not a gift, Jennor, you were no blessing. No one performed wish flower rituals for you. You were an utter inconvenience. Growing more like a tumor than a fetus, the deadline terminal rather than joyous. To your father, you already know, but even more so to your mother. How can a whore continue to sell herself when she's heavy with child?)

Jennor closed her eyes and tried to readjust herself so she wasn't staring right at me. She failed.

(She appears irresponsible. Ugly. Some people say pregnant women are beautiful, because of the joy they feel at being the vessel of new life. Not her. That beauty is not universal, Jennor, it's a choice willing mothers make. One that she couldn't. You don't appear beautiful when your clients abandon you because everyone suspects the child might be theirs. No, you leave the child with the most responsible one, convince him that he's the father, and run somewhere your reputation can't follow. Unfortunately, she could never escape her life since you claimed it. You've been a killer since the day you were born. And it really must say something about your mother's clientele that your father was the most responsible man she serviced.)

Jennor tried to laugh, but it came out like more of a sob.

(Of course, if your true patrilineage is something you're curious about, I may be able to help you. Geographically, who else could your mother have serviced? Who else would have indulged in someone so beautiful, and so young? What other males did you know that seemed to have some kind of property feud with your father? Whose potential obsession with her could have carried over into other arenas, caused other crimes? Kidnapping, physical abuse…rape? Who was so convinced, so consumed, that one generation wasn't enough for him, that incest wasn't a taboo that stopped him? Who do you think, Jennor? Who could _that_ have been?)

I was enjoying this far too greatly, and now Jennor's laughter stopped.

(And which is more likely, Jennor? That your father, an elderly victim of sterility, or that shadow of a man, that Trainer of yours, Tuxebi-Vardan-Delletin, a mature buck in the prime of his life, would be able to fertilize that whore? To spawn an abomination and ensure that she herself would continue down that path?)

(You have no—)

She stopped herself as I stepped forward, over her pathetic, shivering body, as I knelt down so my eyes were inches from hers.

(I don't need proof, Jennor. Not when everything I need to convince you is right here in my head.)

I tenderly lifted her freezing hand with mine and pressed it to my cheek. The snake surged again, inflating my arms and legs, stiffening my fingers. I nearly choked from the anger that it had not chosen to reclaim me when Nagrit attacked. But now she knew about that. She saw those flitting, self-conscious fears pass through my forehead, saw my disgust and hate for myself roll through, and then she saw what I needed her to.

She saw my confidence. That I believed this truly, infallibly. That Sofor himself had told me, in a meeting not long before. That his head had been bowed in shame, that his face contorted in disgust when he mentioned the prostitute he'd abused. That he'd slumped when he'd told me that Tuxebi had been able to sow those fields when he had not, that he'd been forced to raise the offspring of his unfitting rival. The memory passed as clearly as if it had been true. The blood vessels in my fingers, my chest, my legs throbbed. The snake had usurped me completely, had constructed this memory for me. If I held on much longer, it would kill me.

But I didn't. Jennor's hand had fallen away, her face stricken and white, blotted with blood.

(No. I won't believe any of this. You're lying, you're manipulating me, and you've gone too far. It's past cruelty, it's humor. Hyperbole.) She laughed, but it was the most insincere one I'd ever heard from her. Her eyes flitted to her father, begging for him to challenge my conclusion. He stood solid, statuesque, resolute.

(Is it true, Sofor?) I asked quietly. He continued to stare down at his host's daughter, seething with anger. I could only hope his host wouldn't break through enough to undermine me. Because if he was going to, now would be the time.

His eyes narrowed to mere lines, some kind of bright light emanating behind them. (Yes,) he said softly.

(You see, Jennor? I don't need to make up pain for you. It's all true. Your past is a hurricane of misfortune, abuse. Incest. I do care about it. It's as valuable to me as it is to you, and you should not be so quick to assume that I'd lie about it. Sometimes the truth is more powerful than any lie, Jennor, and I just happened to hit the motherlode of truths.)

I breathed deeply and turned to the Hork-Bajir guard. (Leave her in there. If she dies, send someone to me.)

Jennor was crying when I left, a pathetic sob I knew part of her would never recover from. The sub-Visser's main eyes lingered on her for a moment, but then he followed me out of the cell.

(You did well,) I said to him. (I imagine that was difficult.)

(Ma'am, you have no idea.) He saluted and returned to his post.

Jennor's look of potent defeat haunted me for a few hours as I roamed the vessel, waiting for the time to rendezvous with Nagrit. I visited the bridge, still locked and yearning for decryption. I visited the Dome, where the foundation of the pool was almost complete. A few Hork-Bajir were unloading a support beam, and one turned to me, narrowing his eyes in challenge. It startled me, but I was still distracted with everything that had happened that day.

I entered my quarters to wait for Nagrit at 1900. He was already in there.

(You've been in here the entire time,) I surmised.

(It's quiet in here,) he said. He didn't need to explicate. Hosts never like it when their desperate attempts at control go unfulfilled. I pressed my hand against his temple, sure I could feel the pounding screams beneath.

(I never gave you quarters, did I?) I asked.

(Officially you did. I think we're storing Dracon fuel cells in there.)

(I never minded sharing,) I said, cradling his face in my hands. He pulled me close and I rested my cheek against his chest.

(Neither did I.)

(Are you all right, Nagrit?) I asked. His deep brown eyes turned down to me, on the verge of tears.

(I was more worried about you, actually.)

(Oh, I can take care of myself,) I laughed, but stopped when I realized that wasn't true at all. Nagrit frowned, but had the tact not to say anything.

(I've never felt terror like that,) he said. (I've never known that kind of nightmare. I would have killed you, Terliss. It would have been my fault.)

I stood there kissing him for a while. I breathed in deep. I didn't want to tarnish the moment, but I knew I had to. (You remember my plan, Nagrit? You read it completely, didn't you?)

(Yes,) he sighed.

(Then you know that I am required to separate you from your host for one feeding cycle.)

(Yes.)

(And if it happens again, I have to remove you permanently.)

(It won't happen again.)

(It better not,) I said, removing my face from his chest, gazing into and through his brown eyes. (Because if it did, if I was forced to assign you to a different host, this one would know suffering like he's never imagined before. I'd rip him apart just as he ripped us apart. And when he was dead, I wouldn't stop there, I'd go to Andal, I'd find his wife and children, and I'd rip them apart for giving him the audacity to resist. I don't care how long it would take. If you were taken away from me, I'd have nothing left but time.)

He smiled a distant, meaningful smile. (It won't happen again, Terliss.)

(Good.)

(Should I go and begin our separation?)

(No, that can wait until morning,) I said as I accepted his face against mine.

We didn't mate that night. I felt shivers through his hands as he kissed me, muscles jerking beneath his skin. Vaxidun had not given up yet. I hoped the break would be enough for him. I hoped it would tire Vaxidun out. But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure as I pressed my face into his chest and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, waiting for sleep. Sleep didn't come. I was terrified that Andalite hate was stronger than our love, that it would rip us apart. I had promised myself not to underestimate it, but it seemed that I had. I tried to nurse it down, but I began to realize it was everywhere, seeping into every corner of my ship, infecting the controls, destroying my plan. I wondered if it was strong enough to beat me. If I was smart enough to outwit it. Wrapped in his shaking arms, listening to his whispers of delusional self-encouragement, drowning in Terenia's silent mind, I felt more alone than I ever had, and I prayed that I would be granted the strength to complete my tasks.


	72. Chapter Twenty Nine: Jennor

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jennor

PART ONE OF FOUR

It was morning. I wasn't quite awake, but I was more than asleep. I'd managed to catch myself in that period of half-consciousness that allows rational thought without the inconvenience of actual reality. I was planning. The game was about to begin.

I was usually the first to wake up, which always provided a challenge. Mornings were tangled, safe, and satisfying. I wanted them to last as long as possible. But the human body was a small receptacle that could not contain much superfluous matter. The bladder was especially disappointing.

How could I relieve it without waking him up?

I had tried again and again to remove his arms and legs gently, but eons of Andalite evolution, in addition to the inherent difficulty in sleeping in a form that he wasn't born to, had made him a rather light human sleeper, and once I was up, he generally followed suit. I had considered morphing something very small to slip from his strong grasp, or making an excursion sometime in the middle of the night to prevent the urge later on, but nothing seemed to work.

_Just tell him to stay,_ I thought to myself. _No. That's too easy. He may smother this if he knows how much I need it, how much I love it. It's balanced right now. He can't know._

I pushed into consciousness a little more. I was lying on grass, softer than normal. Had we fallen asleep on the picnic blanket again? The air was sort of cold and dry for Earth, even for morning. I felt arms tighten around my shivering body.

They were mine. And they were the only ones.

I opened my eyes. Silky Andalite grass beneath my face, drool pooled on my cheek. Uncomfortable aches reverberated as I shifted position. Native, morning sky before my eyes.

I wasn't on Earth at all.

I pressed my hand against the soft bulkhead. Stared into sky that I shouldn't be able to touch. It was a good representation, from what I could remember. I wondered if it was just a videograph, recorded by some cold, scientific device, or if some nurturing designer had spent days, weeks, or years staring at the sky, absorbing every detail, memorizing every shade, loving and gazing at the sky that loved and gazed at us. It was more than accurate. There was admiration in it.

I couldn't remember what Aximili looked like.

I rose to a sitting position and wiped the crusty trail of spit from my face. As of today, I had spent an equal amount of time on the Dome Ship that I had in my selfish affair with him. It had been four weeks.

I climbed to my feet and began to demorph, watching the uninterested hologram of the Hork-Bajir guard through the prickling force field. My cellmates were quiet. They didn't know that I slept as a human, that I could spend more than two hours in morph. Well-rested as I was, my hooves were sealed and human food was perhaps lightyears away. Flares of metallic hunger rolled through my legs. My arms and tail felt too heavy to hold up. Even as an Andalite, there were few moments not spent thinking about Earth food.

I was fully awake now. Aximili's face had escaped safely back into my subconscious. Every time I tried to remember him, Tuxebi's face would emerge, arrogant with victory and condescension. I shut my eyes tight and buried them in the heels of my hands. She had taken him away from my waking hours, and bred nightmares during parts of the night, yes, but she had not destroyed the memory in the sweetest depths of sleep. In my dreams, he still smiled like him, with that dumb, loose-lipped expression, those deep, caring eyes. I tried to remember whatever dream had brought me to believe I was still on Earth, but then his face twisted into that unfamiliar scowling smile and I gave up.

There were more important things to worry about.

I walked over to the adjacent bulkhead and pressed my palms against it. (Noorlin?) I whispered.

He didn't answer.

I pulled my hands away and wrung them together. I'd almost forgotten about that, too.

Noorlin and I had never been very close. He had trusted me for a moment, he'd felt concern for me. But now...

I heard his force field power down and he hoofed over to my cell. His posture was stiff and defensive. His tail twitched high over his head, prepared for an attack. He viewed me as a threat now. An enemy. Watching me with narrowed main eyes, stalk eyes on the door, he powered down my force field and immediately headed back to his own.

(Thank you, Noorlin.)

He didn't respond. I stood for a moment in my cell, wringing my hands, inspiring blood flow, overcome with another sweep of hopelessness, fatigue, and surrender. They were getting longer now. They were starting to feel less like surges and more like states of being. I stopped hoping that Noorlin would ever see me as an acceptable mate for his son, or that Aximili was something reclaimable. I washed it from my mind. I only found hope now in absolutes. I wasn't surviving this mission, and even if I did, Aximili was purged from my life. Noorlin was as good as a stranger. The sooner I accepted that, the better.

I breathed deeply and opened my thought-speech to include everyone. (I'm going to go check on our latest. It's been seventy-two hours since I freed her, so I should be able to—)

(Jennor, wait,) Trylast shouted. The force in his voice relieved me a little. I got the sense he'd been waiting quite a while for me to wake up. (You've been an enigmatic little freedom fighter long enough. We want to know what your plan is, if you've got one at all. You're the resident expert on starving Yeerks, so we believe you should have a system by now. Let's combine it with strategy. Let's target Controllers based on their qualities. Let's apply rationale to this. Let's all have a say in who gets freed. Noorlin agrees with me, don't you, Noorlin?)

True to character, Trylast had been the most predictable and forgiving of my cellmates. His initial reaction was violent, like it was supposed to be, and I accepted it, because I'd deserved it. And after it was over, I'd hashed out exactly what I'd seen with him, and it was absolved.

It was the night following our forced, intimate "salutations," and neither Noorlin nor Isstarim would talk to me. Isstarim's silence didn't bother me all that much, since it wasn't out of the norm. Trylast, however, did respond.

(Trylast?) I'd whispered submissively. (I...I apologize. I'm sorry.)

(Yeah, aren't we all?) he'd responded instantaneously, giving me a little confidence.

(I...)

(What?)

(I'm curious about something.)

(Oh, so now I have a choice to indulge a Hermilian's curiosity?)

I absorbed the jibe. (In your memory, you—)

(Jennor, I'd rather pretend like it never happened. But since it did, please assure me you won't tell anyone.)

(Of course I won't.)

(Good.)

(But Trylast—)

(Just spit it out, Jennor.)

(Are you Hermilian as well?)

I think he laughed for a while. (Is that what you got out of that?)

(I'd understand if you don't want to say. I've just never met another one before.)

(No, Jennor. I'm not a Hermilian.)

(Then why were you touching that man's face? You couldn't have been—)

(No, certainly not _that._)

I decided not to breach the confusion. The whole situation had been unsettling and depressing. Trylast's mind had been shameful and obsessively self-aware. Isstarim's memories were remote, faded, almost like they were manufactured. And Noorlin's...his were the worst of all, because he'd allowed me to hold on, because he'd let me read deeply just to prove a point that he clearly didn't believe in. I held on and saw the prejudice he'd passed on to his son. He'd faked decency for a moment because of his pride, but now I was just another anonymous, faceless villain lucky enough to be spared by his benevolence.

He didn't respond immediately to Trylast's call for democracy, but then, following a sigh, he muttered: (Not now, Trylast,) I was inching my way towards the door, morphing to Cristex as I went, but stopped at the defeated sound of his voice.

(Why not? You want Forlay freed, don't you?) Trylast argued.

(Of course I do.)

(I'll be back shortly,) I interrupted, heading out the door.

(Jennor, if you avoid us anymore, we will—)

I shuddered, heading through the door, nodding to the two holographic Hork-Bajir we'd carefully installed that stood in front of it.

It was still early. The hallway was empty. I headed down to the door of the latest Controller I'd liberated. I was strangely nervous about this door, for some reason I couldn't quite place. I wasn't afraid for my life, like I had been before. Of the seven Andalites I had freed, I was almost beaten twice. The second most recent was particularly close. Particularly blameworthy. I'd decided I needed some kind of military officer for firepower, and had foolishly chosen the largest one. I overestimated his age-induced frailty, his physical unfitness. He was still a great fighter—fast, powerful, well-trained. Hunger made me sluggish, which destroyed the element of surprise. He'd cut me. Dismembered an arm. Almost pushed me back into the hallway, hit me in the head and caused me to black out for a few seconds. It had taken more strength than I could recover to push him back.

And then three separate Controllers had stopped to ask where all the blood outside of his quarters had come from. An accident, I'd told them, too vaguely. I didn't know if I convinced them. I was sure I hadn't.

Once he was subdued, he didn't cause any additional problems. And, thankfully, he had been worth the few he did. The anxiety from almost losing to him, coupled with the uncertainty that he would offer anything valuable to me, almost made me collapse when I visited him after his Yeerk had died. He had instantaneously allayed my fears.

He was silent, courteous, and still as I explained the plan. Only when I finished and asked if he had any questions did he finally smile.

(You're the girl, aren't you?) He asked.

(What?)

(I do not recognize this boy,) he said. (You're using a morph to mask your identity.)

(Why would you—)

(I knew everyone on this ship, girl. I made a point of it. Four hundred people is just a large enough group for there to be outcasts. That was an impossibility for this mission. A sense of community was critical for success. I would remember you if you were real, and I don't, so you're not.)

I don't know why, but this broke through any pretense of bravery and self-control I had left. I turned away from him, put my hands against the wall, and crippled into self-indulgent sobs.

There was an awkward period of silence lasting no more than a minute that he finally broke. (I won't apologize for the injuries you suffered when you confronted me. It was foolish to choose me out of everyone on this ship when you are so obviously weakened by what she's done to you.)

(You wouldn't have made such an amateurish mistake, I take it?) I snapped, regaining myself a little, wiping my nose.

(No, I wouldn't have. But only because I have information that you, as an immigrant to this vessel, do not.)

I turned toward him slowly. (Perhaps choosing you was not such a mistake.)

(Oh no, it was a substantial mistake, but luck was on your side. You shouldn't rely so much on that factor in the future.)

(Can I rely on you?)

And then he smiled, keeping his distance, but he may as well have embraced me. (If you're here to free my shipmates, then you will have full access to my knowledge and expertise.)

He spent some time going over the roster with me, introducing me to what he considered nonviable threats and hidden, valuable treasures. He gave me advice I found insulting at first, but his patient, level-headed explanation convinced me it was the best strategy.

(Your knowledge base is impressive, Dorothen. I don't need to remind you that it will be the end of this mission if you are reinfested.)

(My cleverness is generally the thing that keeps me out of trouble. What's your name?)

(Jennor.)

(Ah yes. Your father's on board.)

I felt a surge of dark anger flow through me. For some reason, being identified as his daughter sickened me. Angered me. I didn't want to be associated with him anymore, and for a moment I was sure he'd recommend that I liberate him next. I was already summoning the self-control not to strike him at that suggestion.

I allowed myself a moment of surprise, a moment to recenter myself. (Well, if I wasn't convinced before...) I said. He smiled. (Keep yourself safe, Dorothen. I need someone I can trust on the ground. Can you be my ears and eyes while I'm in the brig?)

(You can count on me, sir.) I smiled at the epithet, not sure if I believed his sincerity.


	73. Chapter Twenty Nine: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

And now, I headed toward the door of the Andalite he'd convinced me to free next. I'd thought it was pointless to free a civilian celebrity, a girl not much older than me with no combat or military training, until he'd explained exactly what her talent was. I opened the door and headed inside. Her hologram was just within, standing at a vanity mirror, wiping some moisturizing, cosmetic ointment on her face.

(Couldn't you knock? I am a performer here, and I—)

(Shut up,) I sighed, heading deeper into the room, past the shimmery threshold of the hologram, and looked down at her. She was sobbing, lying on the ground, her legs flat, tail coiled, a shriveled little Yeerk stuck to her cheekbone.

(I tried to be quiet,) she sobbed to me, watching me with her stalk eyes as she covered her main ones in shame. (He was screaming, he flooded me with adrenaline to overcome the sedative, he wanted to run out of the room and—)

(I know,) I said, kneeling down beside her, peeling the dead Yeerk from her face. (Are you all right?)

(You hit me very hard,) she whimpered, moving a hand against her head. (It still hurts.)

(Well, you know better than anyone how to morph the hurt away.)

(I can't even get up right now,) she whined.

(Take your time,) I said. (I'll wait.)

(Can I please have a few minutes alone?)

(I need the projector.)

(So take it.)

(If someone walks in here and sees you crying on the floor, they're going to suspect something.)

(Even for a man, you have a surprisingly inadequate amount of sensitivity,) she snapped as she grabbed my hand. I smiled inwardly, pulling her to her hooves.

(I assure you, any lack of sensitivity derives from a desire for victory. Not my masculinity,) I said. (Just continue to act like your Yeerk, perform his duties, and—)

(Yes, yes, I understand the plan. Just because I'm a female doesn't mean I'm obtuse.)

I smiled at her. (Yes. I know. I also know that you're adept enough to understand when the time has come, and drop everything you're doing to help the effort. Is that correct?)

(What if I'm going to the bathroom?)

I stared hard at her until I realized it was a sort of pathetic attempt to soften the mood. I sighed. (In that case, you are more than welcome to finish that task first.)

She smiled, clinging to my arms as she gained her bearings, stretched her tail and legs. Finally, she began to morph to _djabala_, a particularly affective performance that seemed to draw on the very evolutionary process of our planet.

(That was very beautiful,) I said as she returned to her own form with just as much grace.

(Thank you,) she said, avoiding my gaze. I knelt down and picked up the emitter.

(Do you have any morphs that are battle-worthy?)

(I'll be of whatever help I can,) she responded.

I rolled my eyes at the ambiguity of her statement. I had no time for games. (Just stay safe, all right?)

I turned to head out of the quarters.

(Wait, what's your name?) She asked, rushing forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I turned my borrowed stalk eye, noticing the desperation that glazed her pretty eyes. I recognized her need for reassurance and comfort, and it spiked a soft spot in my heart. I felt exactly the same way. I felt helpless for a moment when I realized I couldn't answer her simple question. I already had to worry about Dorothen getting reinfested and betraying my plan, I couldn't go telling every Andalite I freed who I really was. For a moment, I thought there was nothing I could do.

But then I realized there was.

It may have been unwise, it may have been perverted or unforgivable, but I turned back around and embraced her, providing the masculine comfort it was clear that she wanted so desperately.

She put her little hands against my chest and she began to cry. I tucked her under my chin and pressed my cheek to her forehead, a move I regarded as one of the more comforting ones. It worked well on me, at least. And her tail ducked forward, and I worked hard to deflect any physical feelings she inspired in my unfortunately sensitive morph, and focused instead on giving what little strength she may as well have been begging for.

I only held her for a few seconds before she pulled away in shame and averted her glance. (I'm sorry,) she said. (That was inappropriate, and I can imagine how—)

I touched her cheek with my hand and pulled her back. With both hands, I kissed her tenderly. She finally turned her gaze to look up at me again, and sighed softly.

(Will you be all right?) I asked her.

(Yes. Yes, I'll be all right.)

I stroked her cheek one last time. (I won't be able to see you again, before all this is over. You're on your own now.)

(I'll be all right.)

I smiled. (I believe in you, Morweena.) The words left my mind without really being chosen. I stood confused for a moment until I realized they were the words I myself needed to hear most of all. She seemed pleased by them, smiling and bowing slightly. I engaged the emitter and left.

I felt the familiar bundle of nerves tangle as I left her quarters, now seasoned with this new atrocity I'd committed. Despite the fact that I was invisible on these pilgrimages back to the brig, I always felt exposed, even moreso now. Demorphing as I went, I began to sense the Andalites and Hork-Bajir walking past me, and I knew that if there was another Hermilian on the ship, he could see me just as well. It was a stupid fear, since I had never encountered another before in my life, and I knew that the only thing that had engaged my curiosity was the momentary potential I had seen in Trylast. I'd never before wondered if there were any more only because I was so focused on keeping myself hidden. Now that I was exposed, I had no reason not to explore.

I searched each mind for that uncomfortable weight of secrecy that I felt, for those conflicting feelings of embarrassment and confidence that came from scanning deeply into fortified minds. I hadn't found any others, which both relieved and saddened me. If there was another on the ship, I wanted to free him next.

But I was still tired and hungry. I didn't feel quite confident enough to free a new prisoner. Instead of searching for a new one, I returned to the brig. It was the last place I wanted to be. Maybe that was why I was so eager to return.

Distracted with the anxiety about being ostracized, I reached the brig and walked between the two holographic Hork-Bajir. To my surprise, once the door opened, one of them reached out and touched my flank with a flattened hand.

"Jennor be careful," he whispered. "Empress already walk by Putt once today."

I calmed my racing hearts and caught my breath. I should have sensed his presence. (Thank you, Putt. I'll take note.)

"Yes. Jennor be careful." I looked to the Hork-Bajir who stood next to Putt. He nodded seriously, narrowing his eyes, and it took me a moment to realize, since the holograms were so good, that he was not one of them. I read him a little more deeply to verify, and sensed life beyond his eyes.

Once the door closed, I walked in front of Noorlin's cell and disengaged my hologram. His eyes widened in shock at my sudden appearance. He gasped, then clutched his breast in relief. I dropped the emitter on the ground.

(You didn't free someone else?) He asked.

(Who is outside with Putt?)

(Putt guards the door sometimes,) Noorlin said with combative confidence. (Along with the other Hork-Bajir we've freed.)

(What other Hork-Bajir?) I snapped.

(Good little girls share their toys with good little boys,) Trylast laughed.

(You did this without telling me?) I said, voice rising shrilly.

(Calm down and go to your cell, Jennor,) He said, raising his voice a little in return. He stepped through his hologram and began backing me into my cell.

(No, now wait!) I shouted. (I've had it with this! You can't stop telling me what's going on just because you...you know now,) I slowed, holding a hand up to my suddenly throbbing temple. (You can kill me after we reclaim the ship, all right?)

I pressed the headache away and looked around with my stalk eyes. Noorlin had successfully herded me back into my cell. He reengaged the force field, picked up the fallen emitter, and headed back to his own.

(It is a shame you didn't free a new Andalite,) Noorlin growled. (We were making excellent time. Gaining sufficient momentum.)

(Noorlin,) Trylast said, (this isn't a bad thing. She waited for us, wasn't that sweet? We can vote on who gets freed next. I vote for that broad weapons specialist, what's-his-name, you know, with the massive arms and crossing scars on his flanks.)

(I don't care who she frees next,) Noorlin spat. (I'm focusing on the Hork-Bajir. That's all I know how to do.)

(Because you've freed how many?) I demanded. (You should have told me you started a side project!)

(Come on, Noorlin, you want Forlay freed and you deserve to vote for her. We're all working for this. I'd want to see my wife if I were you.)

(We're allowed to do things without your express consent, Jennor,) Noorlin said with an edge to his voice.

(You should have told me!)

(We should vote!)

(I don't want you anywhere near my wife!) Noorlin finally raged, bellowing with the full volume of his voice. Hairs on the back of my neck all the way to my tail stood on end, terrified that a sufficiently intelligent Yeerk would hear and decipher his meaning. Trylast quieted down too. (It's clear you've blinded all of us with your witchery, and I don't want you to contaminate her as well. Leave my wife alone.) His voice was quieter now, but the edge still sliced deeply, so deeply that I had to swallow back a sob as the poison I'd shoveled away rose back to the surface.

(You petulant foals,) a new voice mumbled. Isstarim powered down his force field. I didn't know how. It would have been foolish to waste two emitters for that, since Noorlin already used one to fake his force field, but he stepped out of his cell and sauntered close, facing the three of us with planetary emotion in his eyes. It didn't seem like much more than acute impatience, but it was so intense that I wanted to curl up into a ball and avert my gaze. He glared at all of us in turn, and each of us turned away like a shamed child.

(You squabble like equatorial heiresses fighting over a piece of property to landscape. Even the most driven and professional Andalites can turn to selfish brats.) He turned to Noorlin, eyes blazing. (The girl is a Hermilian. You define this by ancient nursery rhymes and exaggerated fairy tales and treat her just as they describe. You also think this means her intentions were never pure.) He turned to Trylast. (Yes, there are people we'd like to see freed, but we have been neither curious enough nor helpful enough to understand the girl's methods as to offer suggestions for improvement. How could we deign to command who she is to free when we don't even understand how she does?)

Finally he walked over to me. His eyes were tired, heavy with the sickness I had sensed was killing him. (You lied to us, Jennor, and it didn't do much for your cause. I can only hope the instability you have unleashed onto us is worth the reward we're obliged to seek.)

He turned back, facing the far wall, rubbing his jaw in thought. (A structure never simply crumbles. One weak or underdeveloped component fails and the rest implodes upon it.)

(And who is that weak link, Isstarim? The true Andalites, or the blood filth?) Noorlin sneered.

Isstarim's stalk eyes swept over each of us. (Calm yourself, Noorlin.) His voice was soothing, and I felt all of us throttle back a little. (I think mutual trust is our only rescue. We have found success in the liberation of the Hork-Bajir. The girl has found success freeing our Andalite brethren. We should support, but not interfere with each other.)

I bowed my stalk eyes in defeat. I was so tired, and now I was totally alone. Hopelessness spread through me again. I knew Isstarim had meant to help the situation, but I felt utterly defeated. And I had the terrible feelings things were going to get momentarily much worse.

(Someone's coming,) I said. Isstarim nodded, smiling in his strange way, heading slowly and calmly back to his cell.

The door opened just as he reengaged the force field. To my surprise, Nagrit stepped in alone.


	74. Chapter Twenty Nine: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

I watched him carefully as he inched over. His eyes were exhausted and sympathetic. He swept his stalk eyes beyond my cell to the others, shaking them in pity. He turned one to me. I glared back weakly.

(Haven't been out in a while,) I noted, voice shaking with fresh grief.

(No. She locked me away.)

(Seems like a reasonable response. You did try to kill her.)

Another look of pain came over him. It was strange, but I pitied him. I sensed something in him that I didn't immediately understand. Something complex, neither completely evil nor completely good. He inhaled deeply, and held onto the breath for a moment before exhaling. (You saved her life,) he said.

(An unfortunate consequence of protecting my friend,) I hissed back. He smiled.

(You also saved me from the certainty of a bloody and painful court martial.)

I rolled my eyes. (Well, you're welcome.)

(I haven't thanked you yet.)

I felt my shoulders tighten in expectation. (Am I really so unimportant that she delegates me to you?)

(She doesn't know that I'm here.)

I managed a weak laugh. (Right.)

His eyes narrowed in a personal way that made my shoulders and shins flutter in discomfort. He was a very good-looking man. He pressed the controls of my force field and let me out of my cell.

(Follow me, Jennor.)

I stared at him curiously for a moment, testing the tone of his mind. I knew his intentions were to hurt me, that he was too tired to uphold a convincing pretense. I could feel the percussions of screams and tantrums resonating inside his skull, the exhaustion and tension that sprung from them. Blood pounded against his temples. His headaches were like mine, shallow and unremitting. I was being tortured from without, and he was being tortured from within. Despite it, he smiled as I exited my cell.

I recognized him suddenly as a kindred spirit, a companion of some sorts. Shook off the recognition, chastising myself for being attracted to him. That was all it was. Some stupid physical reaction, spawned both from my mostly-adolescent hormones and the fact it had been just long enough since my last sexual release. He was very handsome.

I should have tried to kill him. For some strange reason, he let me walk free and unshackled, with no guards to guide me. I could have done it. He would have been a valuable kill. But something stopped me. Perhaps that limited understanding we had. Perhaps because I had already fought him, and it would have cheapened that duel to assassinate him now. Besides, I felt a comfort in his presence that I hadn't felt in weeks. One I desperately needed. He was being kind to me, and as superficial as it was, it felt good, and I selfishly accepted it.

He led me to the medical bay where the female doctor was waiting for our arrival. I eyed her closely. This was what Noorlin had wanted to protect from me. This is what he thought I could corrupt. An empty, bland, pale shell, a nonentity, a nothing. No maternal affection, no marital loyalty, no broiling rage now, only the same frigid professionalism that Noorlin maintained. I didn't even regard her by her name. I could have cut her down and felt no sympathy at all for any of them.

A human Controller clothed in a white lab coat with a clipboard stood beside her.

(This will be much better if you morph to human, Jennor,) Nagrit said. His voice maintained its sincerity. I believed him, even though the situation was clearly some kind of trap. I was too tired to contradict him, to fight back. I followed his advice. In a few minute's time, I stood before them all as a naked, disintegrating human. Not a moment passed before I felt the acute symptoms of hunger: a shakiness in my legs, shivers of cold through my goosebumped skin, churning and cackling through my gut. I inhaled through my human nose. Something smelled like rotten garbage, but in an acceptable sort of way

(Do you know how much she'll need, based on her size?) He asked the human doctor. The female Andalite looked to the human. He sighed, narrowing his eyes in consideration.

"I thought you brought me here for a real medical dilemma, not some task a pharmacist could handle blindfolded," he said. He turned around. "One of these is the recommended dosage. She can safely take two. It won't kill her."

(No, I'm sure it won't.) He accepted two small pills from the doctor, smiled pleasingly, and handed them to me. I looked at them in my palm. Little hearts were carved out of the center.

"What are these?" I asked.

(Popular anxiolytics from Earth,) he said. (My gift to you.)

The word "gift" weighed heavily and suddenly in my chest, tempting me to burst into tears of gratitude. "What do they...why?" I asked instead, closing my fingers over them and looking up at him. "Where is she? Why are you doing this?"

(The Empress feels an incredible amount of unjustifiable hatred for you,) he said. (I suppose I pity you a little. You were a fool, of course, to come here, but that doesn't make you this blameworthy. And you saved her. You saved me. I owe you this. Please, I implore you. Take the medicine.)

How much I wanted to believe it surprised me. I shook my head. "No Yeerk would ever have a reason to help an Andalite," I said pathetically. _No lover of my greatest enemy would have a reason to help me unless it suited her_ would have been better. But I bit my tongue.

He laughed a little, not condescending, not mean. Relieved. (Do not focus so much on the war, Jennor. The war is a framework. It is abstract and ultimately irrelevant. You and I are two individuals. The fact that we are Andalite and Yeerk, Hermilian and not is secondary. This is a simple interaction between a broken girl and a repentant torturer. I am sorry for hurting you. I need to forgive myself. Take the medicine.)

"What about her?"

(She trusts me. She won't find out.)

I looked down at the pills, overcome with another surge of emotion, surprised by how much I had needed someone just to be kind to me. I remembered Morweena, the pathetic need for comfort I'd granted for her. She was no lower than me. I looked up at him again, tried to find the obvious deception in his face, because I could not penetrate any deeper. I didn't look very long. I swallowed the medicine.

(Good,) he breathed soothingly. He walked in front of me, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. If I were Andalite, I would have felt the sharp temptation to collapse into him. I almost did, as a human. He smelled clean and desirable, even to my foreign human senses. (Good girl. Doctor,) he called. The human doctor walked over, placing a gas mask over my face. I let him, staring into the kind, brown eyes of my Yeerk captor, glancing back at Noorlin's wife, who was standing back, both disinterested and acutely alert.

(Breathe easy, Jennor. This will help you calm down some more.)

"I know this," I said as I inhaled the saturated, pungent, smoky air. "This is an illegal drug."

(From my understanding, human legality depends on effectiveness, not imminent danger,) he laughed. (I assure you it is not dangerous.)

"Why this combination?" I asked as my lungs filled with the smoky air. "Why these two?"

(You'll see,) he said.

I inhaled the air for 20 minutes, until the world churned and slowed, until my thoughts focused on tiny, simple, unimportant details and made them profound, until all the worry and tension in my muscles, heart, and gut melted away. I crumpled to the ground, and he let me. I ran my hands over the grass in the medical bay and smiled at its soft comfort. It tickled and soothed the sensitive patches of skin between my fingers. It whispered cool moisture into every pore of my skin, and I lay down upon it, burying my face in it like it was some giant's soft, comforting chest, curling my fingers into the sanitized dirt like it was alive.

"I would say that she's ready," the doctor advised. I hummed in my human throat. The vibrations passed through my breast plate, up my throat, throughout my jaw. Like radiation it spilled outward, beautiful, organic sound energy that would never truly dissipate, only change, only expand. I was influencing the universe just by humming.

(Thank you, doctor,) Nagrit said before he slipped his weak arms under mine and hoisted me to my feet. (One last stop, Jennor. I think you'll enjoy this.)

"I enjoy it," I said, the "j" sound hitting the tip of my tongue and gums with a pleasant force. I smacked my lips, tasting the acrid saliva that stress produces. An interesting sensation. I wanted more. I hummed some more, changing pitch now, trying to match to some human melody that had infected me on my third month on Earth.

We were walking in the hallway. My steps were sure and slow. He walked ahead of me and finally ushered me into a new room.

It was the best place I had ever seen.

I gasped as he opened the door. Before me, on the floor and in piles that seemed kilometers high, were packages of human food, some already cooked, some that didn't need to be, some that would be better raw anyway. My imagination burst open at the thought of all of this food, and my stomach screamed, suddenly reminding me that it was still there, still crying out for mercy. I placed a hand over it, wary about diving right in. I looked back at him. He was watching me from within the room, eyes sparkling with altruistic comfort.

I flung myself to the ground and wrapped my arms around his legs. I pressed my face into his smooth abdomen, unconcerned with its sensitivity. I rubbed my cheek in his fur, astounded at how soft it was, how conditioned, how good his cool skin felt against my face. He stuttered back but held his ground, shocked but not disgusted.

"Thank you," I whispered, voice croaking into sobs. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

(Let go, Jennor, get off,) he said. It was defensive. Meaningless. His hands were already on my shoulders, pushing me back for a moment, but then they moved to cradle my head. The human doctor took a step forward, but Nagrit waved him back. (Let go, Jennor,) he kept saying, as I kept whispering "Thank you, thank you so much."

He grew stiff as I grew limp, and finally he tiptoed backward, allowing me to crumple in front of him. He almost knelt down to check if I was all right, but took another step back instead. His hands curled into fists and he crossed his arms. I glanced up at him. All four of his eyes were avoiding me.

I drew myself up, wiped the tears from my face, and turned to the food. I was hungrier than ever, ready to delve in, but finally my intellect caught up with my warped perception, my hunger, the immediacy of the smells and tantalizing tastes in front of me.

"She planned this," I said in a random moment of insight.

He breathed deeply, still stiff and avoidant. (It is for you, Jennor.)

"She's going to use it to hurt me."

(It's not going to hurt you. It will make you feel better,) he said, smiling, though he was still standing far away.

I turned back to the food. My eyes focused on a loaf of white bread, a jar of some brown substance called "Nutella," and my very favorite item of human food: peanut butter. Enough to keep me happy for days. Another flare of hunger in my gut, crawling up my chest like bubbles.

"It's poisoned," I reasoned.

(It's sealed,) he pointed out. He was right. The jars had never been opened, the loaf of bread was still wrapped in untampered plastic. I grabbed a package of Twinkies, squeezing them, verifying the airtight wrapping. I could have had a feast just with the food they hadn't processed.

"I can't," I said to myself, shoving my arms beneath each other. I shrugged my shoulders, prepared for a blow that would force me. He took a step forward, cautious, slow. He bent down and wiped the hair from my face.

(You will,) he said patiently.

He was right.

It took about fifteen minutes, but the smells of cooked meat, baked goods, and melted cheese overwhelmed me, partnered with the visceral monster rampaging through me, and the power of imagining what they would taste like, how good they would be. Before I knew what was happening, my hands were unwinding the cap to the peanut butter jar, and my fingers had submerged in that wonderful substance whose consistency knows no match. I held the gob under my nose and inhaled the fragrance, as wonderful as flowers, as immediate and irresistible as sex. My fingers were in my mouth and I swallowed without even tasting it. It didn't matter. There was so much more. I curled up with that jar for a solid five minutes, just ingesting the substance every way I could imagine, wiping it between my lips and gums, swishing it in my human mouth to extract every flavor, drinking it like thick milk. It was perfect. It brought me home, to Earth, and Oreos...

There were Oreos. I ate them. I tried the Nutella, a wonderful substance that felt like peanut butter and tasted like chocolate and nuts. I was getting full, but I didn't care, I had to keep eating, my instincts were insatiable, the need too great. My curiosity became overwhelming, it suddenly became a contest to taste everything in the room, and I did, I ate until my stomach ached, until sharp pains rose up into my chest, until it was hard to breathe, until the urge to vomit overcame the urge to eat more. I ate until I lay shivering from cold and sugar on the defiled grass. Nothing would make this more perfect than sleep.

Someone was laughing above me.

(Excellent work, Nagrit,) she said. I didn't need to look. I didn't really even care. The deception of kindness was over, which made me sad on a level too deep to acknowledge. I knew I probably looked like some kind of animal, covered in grime and filth, groaning from cramps and aches, but it didn't matter. I was so calm and felt so wonderful that nothing she could do mattered. (Let's take her back to my quarters.)

They hoisted me to my feet and I felt the wonderful pain of eating too much. Everything was so calmed, so relaxed. I hadn't felt this good in weeks.

They dropped me on the grass in front of her desk. I pulled my knees into my chest, feeling the pressure of my tightened stomach, knowing what was coming, but too overcome with how wonderful I felt to care.

A pinprick in my arm. It was gone after a second.

(I overestimated you,) she sighed. (I was sure you'd see this coming.)

"What makes you think I didn't?" I asked.

(You wouldn't have indulged so heartily if you did.)

Strong heart palpitations pulsed throughout my chest and shoulders. "Why was he so kind to me? Why didn't you just order me to ingest?"

(I could say that's just his way. Which is true.) They glanced at each other. Her gaze was proud, but his was guilty. He still couldn't look at me. (But I suppose I just wanted you to feel exactly what I would be taking from you.)

I felt a sudden shiver through my abdomen. I gasped in reaction to it. "And what is that?" I whispered.

She paused for a moment, gazing at her assistant, sauntering around to me. (I've been going about this the wrong way, Jennor. I'm upset that it took me four weeks to realize, but I have been busy. Running an empire taxes the faculties.)

Another shiver ran through my abdomen, a little slower, a little more intense. A little painful.

(I started out as a torturer, you see. It was my job to excavate information, mainly from traitorous Yeerks. None lasted longer than a week, because information is a cheap good. People will say anything to make you stop. Lies, truths, whatever they think you will believe. It was my job to separate fact from fabrication. My job to recognize that look of betrayal in their eyes, that recognition of inner-weakness and mortality. It is a pathetic look, once you recognize it. It made my job much easier.)

Shivers continued to run through my abdomen, extending to my shoulders and thighs. Throbbing now, tightening like overstressed screws. They were beginning to pound rhythmically. My muscles were locking in place.

(But that is not what I need to do with you. You know nothing that I require. I've been stripping away your outer layers because it hurts, because it has worked in the past. But that's not my goal. My job, for you, is utter deconstruction. To dismantle the component fibers that comprise your spirit, your resistance. There is no nugget or item that I'm searching for. I just want it all destroyed.)

I suddenly convulsed forward. Violent, sharp nausea gripped me hard. My stretched abdominal muscles contracted backwards, pushing the contents of my stomach up and down. Hard beads of sweat squeezed through my forehead. I could barely breathe.

(I hurt you. I'm good at that. You were hurt. But it's not enough. Things matter to you, Jennor. Like those uninfestable Andalites. It hurt when I took them away, didn't it? It hurt worse than stripping your skin or defiling your pressure points. But there's more. So much more that matters to you, things you remember, things that bring you comfort. Things like this.)

I couldn't move to see what she referred to, but she bent down and held it in front of my face.

The half-empty peanut butter jar.


	75. Chapter Twenty Nine: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

(Nagrit calculated that you ingested 3500 calories in your binge. Even without the muscle paralyzer we gave you, that would be uncomfortable.)

I wanted to vomit. I needed to, but my stomach wouldn't allow it. So much pressure on me, like a fish tank on my abdomen. I blinked and tears rolled out of my eyes. I looked up behind me, and he stood there, glancing to and away from me with the same kind of pity in his eyes.

(Would you like more peanut butter, Jennor?) the Empress asked, unscrewing the cap and holding the open jar beneath my nose. I gagged. (Ever again?)

I glared up at her, realizing finally what she was doing. I turned my nose from the fumes that drew out every urge to vomit that could only be denied.

(Not now, then. Later.)

Systematically, she held every item of food I'd touched in front of my face, engaging every sense she could. Crackling the plastic wrapping of Pop Tarts. Smearing frosting, Nutella, caramel on my face and in my hands. She was solidifying the conditioning as the pain continued to rage, the pressure in my abdomen was unbearable, and I felt a fresh wave of cold sweat every time a new item of food was recognized and remembered. I couldn't imagine eating any of them ever again. She was taking all of it away from me. And yes, this hurt, but even worse was imagining what else she could find to take away.

It took hours for the pain to ebb. She stopped talking after a while, just gazing down at me with a despicable glint of triumph in her eye. When my muscles finally allowed me to move, I looked up at her and immediately understood her satisfaction.

(Food and your tail blade. Which will you miss more?)

I shut my eyes. _You fool_, I said to myself. _You utter, ridiculous fool._

(Have fun digesting that food, Jennor. It will be the last I give you for a while. I'm no idiot, I realize permanent conditioning takes more than one bad experience, and there will be more, I promise. For now, however, take consolation from the fact that you'll never have to eat Andalite emergency rations again.)

Another pinprick in my arm. This one's effects were immediate.

(A human girl turned into an Andalite and ended up a Yeerk slave. Now an Andalite girl has turned into a human. Hopefully, resulting from what we did to you today, you will end up somewhere much worse. Marijuana, valium, heroin. An ironic word for a drug that turns innocent girls into prostitutes, and normal, good-natured humans into villains. Appropriate, however, for you. Jennor-Elacable-Barees, the heroine addict. Addicted to heroism.)

My eyes swam in relieving, warm, bubbling water: soft and unbitter. Unreal. Quiet, comforting, orgasmic, like drowning in pleasure. This was the culmination of that pink euphoria. I was finally dead. There was no reality anymore. There was no Dome Ship, no war, no unpleasable father figures, no unrescuable _shorms_, no heartbroken, hostile lovers. Just me and some substance pulsing through my bloodstream that stripped every care and worry from my flesh. Floods of pleasure through my limbs, raging through my muscles. This was perfection. God, it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

It lasted forever, but as soon as it was over, it hadn't happened at all. Someone was screwing metal rods into all of my joints, and I could hear the unbearable frequency of the force field that kept me inside. I squirmed, nothing was comfortable, not even my fingers and toes. I had to vomit, so I did. A lot came out. It covered the grass in my cell and smelled acidic and overwhelming. Everything smelled bad, pins and needles drilled into my pores, every hair on my body was a lightning rod in the middle of an electric storm.

"Oh God," I breathed, freezing, burning, boiling, and ripped apart. My breath stuttered, gagged, choked. "Ahhh..."

(I can't treat this creature,) a stern voice suddenly cried out, far too loud, in my head, and it was a response to someone else, a wordless whining that meant to rip my brain from my skull. (She trapped her in a form that I can't help.)

(Well, at least she's not a Hermilian anymore.)

Handprint-shaped spots of warmth disappeared from my back. (She still is,) Noorlin said.

(Oh, for Elder's sake. Noorlin! Make her stop sobbing like that!)

I couldn't demorph. I'd destroy the only thing that could protect them. The last secret weapon I had would be unveiled. They couldn't know, because it was information far too valuable to expect them to protect.

But I couldn't bear it anymore. So I demorphed.

(Thank Elder, you shut her up. Get back in your cell, Noorlin, in case someone comes in here. Worry about her injuries tomorrow.)

I was in some kind of position that I couldn't pick myself up from when I finished. Pain stopped burning through me, but there was a discomfort in my back. I was face-down on the ground, rolling in my own sick, lower body twisted around me. I turned a stalk eye to Noorlin, who was staring at me, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

(It's not possible,) he said.

I tried to plant my back legs in the grass, but I couldn't. At least I could eat it now, remove the blocks from my hooves without risk of being punished for it. I tried my front legs, using them to push my backside up, but I was too weak and too heavy.

(Noorlin,) I said. (Please help me.)

(You were in morph for eleven hours,) he said. (You're a _nothlit_. This is one of your clever hallucinations. You're manipulating me, you filthy piece of…why are you forcing me to see this?)

(I can't do that, Noorlin! I've never manipulated anybody! I've never put a single thought in anyone's head; I can't even manage a subtle suggestion in conversation! I'm not smart enough to manipulate anybody!)

(Then what is this?)

(It's...I can't explain it. Just help me up.)

He stood, facing me, hands pressed back against the wall, pinning himself there like he was expecting to spring out of the cell in terror. Slowly, after many long moments, his hands drew away from the wall, and he stepped over cautiously, grabbing onto my arms and pulling me up.

(Please stop _looking_ at me like that,) I begged him, but his eyes would not blink.

(What is it?) He asked. (Do Hermilians have a different Escafil coefficient than normal Andalites?) He began to pace. (Did he record the races of his test subjects? No, that is a prejudice that even science is susceptible to. He wouldn't have known. They should have tested. They should have found Hermilian subjects; if he'd have known then he could have stopped this villainy from gaining even more strength! No one must ever know, this must be kept secret, because—)

He stopped and turned to me. My hand was covering my face and main eyes, but he sensed the hopelessness in my stalk eyes. It stopped him. I felt regret well up in him, guilt spilled through right after.

(What did she give you?) he asked, but it was irrelevant, and more to himself than to me.

I shook my head. (You don't have to pity me, Noorlin. I know how difficult it is for you to see me as anything more than scum.)

His eyes turned away. He rubbed the back of his neck, and I felt a homesick spark of pain crawl through my throat.

(I don't hate you. I just disapprove of what you are.)

(That makes absolutely no sense,) Trylast muttered.

(No, please, listen. I...we need to work together. That much is clear. We can't complete this task without your expertise. And yes, I realize that using that expertise for my own benefit makes me a hypocrite. I...I don't hate you. You have to understand. We're not on Andal anymore, and I know that, which means every prejudice and taboo is meaningless here, we left it all back home. Can't you see it?)

I pulled the hands from my face, gazed into his desperate eyes. Yes. He still hated me, and he wanted to be absolved for it.

(It's not that easy, Noorlin. You have to choose. Accept my help and accept me, or deny my help and maintain your precious dignity.) I wanted to tell him how important his choice was, what weight it would carry in the potential for my future, but I couldn't. I wanted to influence him, yes, but I was too afraid that I'd mess it up.

(I choose to continue the mission,) he said. (I choose to accept you as an ally.)

(All right,) I said emotionlessly, though I could have collapsed from relief and rage.

Noorlin left my cell shortly after, without questioning me more about my irregular morphing abilities. Deep wisdom on his part. The less he knew, the better, especially since it was now my job to figure out how to continue using my ability without giving it away to the Empress. Every time I morphed, I'd undo all of the torture she unleashed on me. I needed to figure out some way to maintain my injuries from session to session, or else I could no longer free Andalite Controllers on the ship. But I was too tired to figure it out just then. I had no energy to think about a task so insurmountable.

The Empress had admitted her regimen had not worked like she planned, but she was too hard on herself. She'd already taken so much from me. Peanut butter was gone. Aximili was gone. All suffering, starved respect and love for my father…for Sofor, gone. Terenia, who knew? What hope was left?

I had spent so much time and energy trying to impress Noorlin, trying to earn his favor so he could accept me as a suitable mate for his son, trying to earn the hope that maybe, despite my failures, I could enter their family, deserve that love again. But that had failed. No one could convince him that I was a good match for Aximili.

Could they?

My thoughts turned to the bland figure standing beside the human doctor. Unfamiliar, unlike Aximili. Reminiscent of holo-pictures I had seen of Elfangor the Great. She'd passed more likeness onto her more familiar, less essential son. And yet, something there. Something that didn't come from Noorlin. She was pale from spending too much time in the medical bay. Trapped at her post. Trapped in her body.

_If my father was the bitter, she was the sweet._

A mother.

Maybe that's what I needed. Maybe that was what I'd been missing all along.

I waited until long after the ship slipped into its period of minimal operation. The nurtured walls showed the deep, comforting red of an Andalite night, speckled with stars, four of the seven sister moons hanging like ornaments in the sky. I woke Noorlin up. He let me out.

(Where are you going?) He asked. I didn't answer.

He hated me for what I was. So did I. But it was never more necessary than right now.

I walked invisibly up and down the hallway of the ship. I walked for hours, until the whispering echoes of Andalite dreams their Yeerks could not subdue became a language I could decipher, until I found five possible doors, then eliminated two, then three, then four.

Only one door would feel a mixture of pride and nostalgia when remembering the childish disrespect of her elder offspring. Only one door would feel pity and guilt when remembering the comfort she had to bestow upon the younger. Only one door would wrap his youthful, imaginary form in her grasp and assure him that his time would come.

I did not morph to Cristex as I moved in front of it. It was a terrible risk, exposing myself to an infestable Andalite. If she was found out, reinfested, her new Yeerk would see me in her memory, would report the event to the Empress, who was smart enough to realize what it meant. I didn't care. I needed her to know me.

I disengaged the hologram. Her eyes were open when I opened the door.

Neither of us moved for a long, poignant moment. I wondered if she knew who I was, beyond my role on the ship. I wondered if she could read my gaze and sense the empathy I felt for her, the same responsibility I'd accepted when I fell in love with her son. For that moment, I was sure that she could understand me completely if she just gave me the chance. I was sure she would accept me, endorse me. Then her Yeerk broke the moment with a sly, arrogant smile that was more petty than threatening.

We didn't exchange any words. I only had to hit her once to knock her out. I'd have to find the drugs to keep her unconscious. I wasn't about to use Noorlin for help. I'd come up with some excuse for him later.

I'd have to program her hologram with as much medical knowledge as I could glean from her mind. It would be difficult. Any severe medical emergency in the next three days would reveal my deception. The black, imploding sureness of failure encapsulated my chest as I knelt down beside her. And then I pressed my cold hands against her temples and read.

I had not missed a mother until that moment. A deaf person does not miss sound if they were born without it. But now I could hear. Music and laughter, screaming and alarms. A sick, wonderful love that was cloying and suffocating, imperfect and harmful in so many ways. I held on for too long. I'd never been so selfish in my readings, but now that I knew it, I needed it fervently. I released her and stayed in her room, grieving the childhood I should have had, wishing against all likelihood that it was something I could reclaim, something maybe she could give me.

Hopeless. Helpless. Utterly abandoned. I'd never had the reason to pity myself for this before, to resent her weakness in succumbing to death, to whine aimlessly to the universe for stealing her from me. Why couldn't I be the recipient of that terrible, powerful love? Why had I been kept from it? What was my failure? And, worst of all, was it possible to reclaim?

I performed the necessary tasks to keep her undermined, and when I was finished, I made sure she was comfortable behind her hologram. When morning broke, I'd have to use another emitter to install her in sick bay. I was tender with her, very unlike the distance I maintained with the other Andalites I'd freed. I returned to my cell, tail drooping, but somehow, fortified.

The Empress could take peanut butter, and Aximili, and Noorlin. But she could not take away something that never existed. She couldn't take this hope, because it was one I shouldn't have been able to have.

Maybe I could get through this after all.


	76. Chapter Thirty: The Empress

Chapter Thirty

The Empress

PART ONE OF THREE

Five months later

(So you're in love with her?) I asked. I'd wanted my voice to convey patience and understanding, but I could hear the shrill harpy emerging. I had no right to be upset. I'd seen this coming for weeks. But for some reason, I would have much preferred this issue going undiscussed until Jennor was dead, until Earth was ours, even until the war on Andal had breached. Or maybe undiscussed altogether. Instead, the splitting pressure and stress of jealousy crawled up my chest, and I very much wanted to smack him with my tail.

(Terliss, stop overreacting,) he said. (That's not what I meant at all. I want to talk about it, but if you're going to be unreasonable—)

(No, you're right,) I sighed. I pressed my hand as hard as I could against my sternum, calming the irrational beast. (I haven't been myself lately. I feel paranoid, or tired, or both. I'm sorry. Go on.)

(We've killed hundreds of treacherous Yeerks,) he sighed, holding my forearm in both of his hands, stroking the underside and pressing it to his face. (But none of them mattered. They were faceless, villainous scum, and our task was clear. It was easy to dismiss them, just like it was easy to dismiss her in the beginning. But when she speaks, I no longer hear cowardly desperation or obvious hypocrisy. I hear reason and pain and terror, all of it justified. She is not just a project, a deadline. She's become a person,) he sighed, covering his main eyes with my hand and allowing his stalk eyes to close and droop.

I sighed. It had taken much study, but I had learned to combat the feelings Nagrit was describing. I thought he had too, but apparently I hadn't taught him as well as I thought. I resented him a little, confessing this to me, unloading this burden for me to bear. The unspoken guilt was uncomfortable, but certainly better than this.

(How long have you felt like this?) I asked him, pulling his head close, allowing his chin to settle between my stalk eyes.

(Since we first started conditioning her to hate food,) he responded. I stiffened a little.

(It's really been five months? That long?)

(I thought I could...) he began, but gave up and tightened his grip around me. I shut my eyes. Nagrit's sensitivity and devotion were what drew me to him in the first place. He was such a compassionate refuge in the harsh, stark light of the Empire. Perhaps I had been unwise. Perhaps Yeerks like him were unsuccessful rarities for a reason.

I ignored the thought and pressed my ear against his chest, listening to the rapid, rhythmic heart beneath. His cheek was against my head. (It will be all right,) I said. (She will be dead soon, we can put this behind us, and move on with our lives. Win the war.)

(When?) he scoffed. (Why hasn't it happened yet?)

(I don't know,) I sighed. It was the most important question and it had no answer. I'd completed my task, answered the snake's incessant plea, brought her aboard my ship. Why, now, the shame when I finally conjured the mettle to finish the deed? Why the wildest, most random interventions when uncontrolled bits of my torture should have completed it for me? Her heart had randomly restarted more times than I felt comfortable with. I had to keep trying, but every successive time made me feel more and more guilty, less at ease with my control over the situation.

We'd come up with a theory, of course, a theory that had shaped our strategy, but I'd amended it a little. I was too embarrassed to share it with Nagrit, too averse to keep bringing it up. I'd assumed that some internal force was keeping Jennor alive, something mystical, metaphysical and immeasurable, something I had to break from without, but I'd realized that perhaps the force was not internal at all. Perhaps I'd written the rules of this whole game myself. I'd captured Jennor using an Andalite form on an Andalite ship. Perhaps that meant she was protected by Andalite law, definitively stringent and unbreakable, which dictated that even the most depraved criminals could not be executed until they were adults. Twenty-one years of age.

Jennor still had one month to go.

If I could give up the Dome Ship, my host, Nagrit's host, and the biggest victory the Yeerk Empire had obtained, then yes. Perhaps I could kill her like a Yeerk should be able.

I didn't know if Nagrit had a month left in him. I didn't know if I did. It had been a taxing journey. The uninfestables were still uninfestable, Jennor was still practically immortal, and the ship was still fortified against us. We still floated around Saturn like a lazy asteroid, and morale was beginning to sink.

I was running out of options. Though Jennor's human form was now entrenched in the midst of starvation, skin stretched like a rubber glove over a skeleton, red lesions dotting her, she would not accept death. I'd taken everything I could think from her. She gagged in the mere presence of food. I'd convinced her that Sofor was ineffectual and shamed, her mother was a whore, that Tuxebi was probably her real father. Her mind was a sinkhole of insanity, and I knew that if my current, monstrous plan failed, there was only one vine left for her to cling to, to keep her nostrils emerged, to keep the clarity of the sun shining above her.

(We need the boy, Nagrit,) I whispered after a momentary period of silence.

(Even with the culmination of our current plan so imminent?)

I shuddered at the thought. He gripped me more tightly. That plan. That monstrous, terrible plan. It was something neither of us was very comfortable with, but we both recognized how desperately necessary it was. I wondered if it was the reason for his sudden admission of sympathy. Was he getting cold feet?

(Yes. It will weaken her, but if it doesn't crush her entirely, I want the boy to ensure she's pulverized.)

(Visser Three is convinced that he's run away.)

I felt another violent urge to lash out, but I buried my face in his chest instead. Visser Three had lost much less credibility for his ineptitude in capturing the bandits than I'd wanted him to. In fact, a few of the Councilors had already called the question of officially reinstating him to a vote. They'd been postponed, prolonged, but it was only a matter of time. The foolishness of being outsmarted and eluded by the Andalite bandit that I'd wanted burned into his reputation had fallen to mine instead.

It was time to end this charade, and cure two ills in doing so.

I pulled my face away from Nagrit's chest and looked up into his eyes. He was so conflicted, so sympathetic, so good. I couldn't keep him here. Planning Jennor's total ruin and descent from sanity was easy, but actually implementing it would be something else entirely. He needed to go, partly because I was afraid of what his conscience would do at the critical moment, and partly because I didn't want to be responsible for staining it.

(You need to go find him,) I said.

There was an awful moment of silence that resulted from my miserable timing. Priorities were shifting. Nagrit had just confessed that he was uncomfortable torturing Jennor, and now I was sending him away. I'd hurt his feelings. I was ashamed at how much that bothered me.

He bowed his head slowly. (Do you think I have failed you?)

I inhaled deeply and prepared to accept responsibility for his feelings. What a strange relationship this had become. (Nagrit, the only one who has failed me is Visser Three. I'm sending you to Earth because I know you won't.)

He stroked my cheek and looked away. (Things have changed,) he said. (I've altered our tempo. Slowed things down.) I felt a surge of something rise in my chest, like heartburn or nausea. Something deeper, too, a churning or prickle of sensation that made me nervous. I inhaled deeply, and it went away.

(Why do you say that?)

(Because it's true.)

I bristled. (I think things are fine. And if they have changed, they've gotten better.) The feeling like heartburn surged again and I winced.

(Terliss, don't lie to me if something is wrong.)

(Nothing is wrong, Nagrit. I'm not sending you away in shame. You are a sub-visser, after all. You should get a real mission every now and then.)

He frowned. His self-confidence had taken a hit after Vaxidun had overcome him and had yet to fully recover, even though there had not been another problem with either of our hosts since then. Terenia only cracked through my consciousness in bursts of often wordless non sequiturs. It was a symptom I had heard about when hosts had been hosts too long. Their control of their minds slips to entropy, and random bursts of synaptic energy are the only resistance they have left. She was not dead, but she was no longer alive. I didn't know if it was permanent. I didn't know why I cared.

It was as perfect as it could be, then. Nagrit's host had devolved into infantile sobbing, and Terenia was as good as dead. I found myself strangely dissatisfied with it. Guilty, maybe. Terenia had just been caught in the crossfire. Collateral damage. As Empress, procuring new hosts for my people and subduing any resistance were my main goals. I had done well in this arena, particularly with my own. Yet my hearts often felt empty, and I often felt melancholy, now that I'd broken the window that allowed me to experience the world.

I released Nagrit for a moment. He cradled his temples in his hands and turned away. (You should go in the morning,) I said to him. (Report back often, I want to hear every step of your search.)

(Terliss?) He asked.

(Yes?)

(What if I fail? What if he really is gone?)

(That's for you to decide, Nagrit. You misunderstand the point. When Visser Three tells me he can't be found, I think he's lying, or the amount of effort he's expending is inadequate. If you tell me he can't be found, then he can't be found.)

Nagrit smiled a little. (You're a fool to still trust me.)

(If trust makes me a fool, then let me trust only one.) I smiled, glad I had succeeded in not hurting him, and kissed him again.

Though I had become wary of spending all of our nights together, I did not relinquish him that night. I did not know how long he would be gone. Or if he was ever coming back. I was paranoid and seasoned enough to recognize that possibility. Looking for the Andalite Bandits was dangerous work. I ordered him to assemble an expert security team to accompany him, the veiled purpose of which was to keep him safe.

When he left the next morning, it was just me and the girl.

I went to the brig after a few hours of idle, cowardly procrastination. She was huddled in the corner, as usual, the way elderly monkeys are at the zoo. Her skin was sallow and pale, polluted snow cut by the rivulets of her veins. Nubs of vertebrae pushed through the center of her back, ribs intersecting and curving down at odd angles. Her shoulder blades shifted visibly as I approached. Her hair was thinning. I'd taken the liberty of removing most of it for her, with the help of Nagrit's tail blade, but what was left clung to her skull in shrinking, translucent patches.

The rest of her body was covered in deep, diffusing bruises and liver-colored scars, results of the torture she'd experienced over the past three months. So much of it was unphysical, the evidence internal rather than visible. She was forcibly addicted to many human drugs, needing their presence in her system just to function properly. She could no longer eat anything, even if she wanted to. Food was no longer the priority. She gagged in aversion at everything I had conditioned her to: television, physical touch, warmth, comfort. It was difficult work that was not entirely successful, but even so, she was a shell of a creature, sapped of all substance and power.

There was nothing left to fear, but without Nagrit there, I felt my chest tighten in anticipation. I inhaled deeply, trying to burst the cage open, trying to incite that deep, independent, hidden power, but it didn't budge. I opened her force field.

(Get up, Jennor,) I said. The Hork-Bajir behind me moved closer in case she decided to attempt escape. I waved them back. I did not consider that a real threat.

She clutched her knees more tightly, bowed her head deeply into them. Breath rattling, she whimpered. She was no more excited to see me than I was to see her.

I sighed. I didn't repeat requests, something I had made that clear to her before. I nodded the Hork-Bajir inside and one roughly grabbed her upper arm. Some deep snap resonated from inside her body. I hoped it was a stiff joint and not a bone, but the amount of malnutrition I had subjected her to wouldn't have made it unlikely. She cried out in response, her aching joints snapping into place.

(All right,) she said in thought speech, the only way she communicated anymore. She rose to her shaky knees, flabby skin previously full of muscle and fat and life hanging dead off her frame. She turned around. Her lips were swollen, mouth full of scurvy and infection. They curled into her remaining teeth at the threat of invigoration. The Hork-Bajir pulled her forward and she jerked, already unable to keep up with his slow pace.

It was a depressing sight. I tried not to look back at her as we walked towards my quarters, but my curiosity was insatiable. What should have been domination on the part of the Hork-Bajir became support—her knobby knees could not carry her limited weight and she kept stumbling. I turned ahead, remembering the time she had rescued me from Nagrit, the power that was sapped even then. If Vaxidun rebelled again...

But he wasn't here. It was just me and her. She was a starved, impotent human, and I was a healthy Andalite. Female, yes. Untrained, yes. But I was still more powerful than her.


	77. Chapter Thirty: Part Two

PART TWO OF THREE

We entered my quarters. Sub-Visser 11 was waiting inside. I hadn't used him in months, to maximize his effectiveness, to combine that remote untouchability with the intimate…

I sighed, suddenly unwilling to continue. This was wrong. This was disgusting, this was—I shook my head a little and mustered the courage. We'd been preparing this day for too long. It had taken a lot of planning, a lot of time, a lot of patience. Nagrit had assured me that it would work. That it was important enough to draw out. Even then I realized he was probably motivated by unwillingness over strategy. I'd been skeptical, impatient. Now I was fulfilling months of work without him. It felt wrong without him here. But that was not the only reason why it did.

Her eyes turned from me to her Father. He gazed back hard. Months of practice had given him the expertise to temper Sofor's facial control. His scar was a relaxed line on his face, his shoulders were straight, broad, and perpendicular to the rest of him, giving him the impression of a decayed brick wall. Right now, he was nothing more than intimidating scenery, but he would very soon become a prop.

She turned away. I wondered if she knew where this was going. I wondered if I could push it that far. Nagrit may have admitted to the potential disaster stemming from his mild Lima Syndrome, but he was not the only one affected by it. I did pity her. Despite my training and preparation, I felt the grisly pit of sympathy churn within me. Drowned in Terenia's similar memories, this would be a difficult task to complete. But with Nagrit gone, his weakness too vulnerable to keep around, I had to do it. As Empress, sometimes it was my duty to do things that were very, very evil.

I swallowed back my disgust. (How long has it been now?) I asked her. I didn't need to explicate. She knew exactly what I was referring to.

(Eight days,) she responded. Her chest caved in, shoulders hunched. It looked like she was going to vomit, but she mastered the impulse and swallowed the empty bile back down.

(You must feel terrible,) I said. I had meant to convey sarcasm, power. It sounded sincere. She bowed her head and accepted it. I did nothing to relinquish it.

(Did you bring me here just to gloat?)

(I want to relieve your pain.)

(Don't tease me.)

(I'm not.) I walked slowly behind my desk, shivering a little, currents of memory pulling me back. I brushed them away.

(Garbanzo umbrellas!) Terenia suddenly shouted. It was enough to break the tension, relieve my stress. I picked up a small balloon of brown heroin, a bent spoon she'd learned to use a couple of months ago, a lighter, and a syringe. The items were heavy and awkward in my weak hands.

I turned around and walked back to her, stopping about ten feet away. I sprinkled the items on the ground. She gasped and gave half a lunge, stopping herself.

(There,) I said. (Relief.)

Her eyes were like supermarket mirrors. They could not look anywhere but the abstract little dollop inside the red balloon. If she'd had stalk eyes, I could only imagine how far stretched forward they would be.

She glanced up at me a couple of times, testing the boundaries. It would take too long for her to melt the drug and inject it without my violent intervention. She knew that she was just waiting for the price. I sighed, drawing the moment out from a combination of unwillingness to go further and knowledge that the more I let her want the drug, the more difficult it would be for her to refuse the cost.

Finally I glanced at Sub-Visser 11 and nodded a stalk eye. He nodded back and began to morph.

I took a few slow, cautious steps forward. Jennor was clutching her forearms, tendons taut beneath her thin skin. Track marks had scabbed over in the pits of her elbow, but were still raw and ugly. She looked up at me.

(What do I have to do?) She finally asked.

I breathed deeply, collecting my thoughts, slowing my speech so it was deliberate and unemotional. I couldn't let her see how this affected me.

(You are without lineage, Jennor. We have made this clear. It is very unlikely that the man who stands before you is your father, due to the impotence that preys upon the elderly of any species.) Jennor glanced at Sub-Visser 11, who was now comfortable in a clothed, dark-skinned human morph.

(This makes you very unique,) I said. (You are unrestricted by the normal rules upon which your society is based. You are very much like a Yeerk. Orphaned, disconnected, free.)

(I am no Yeerk,) she said, but her eyes, uninterested in her father, turned back to the heroin.

(You're more Yeerk than you know,) I said. (You can read a mind like a Yeerk. You are alone, like a Yeerk, and yet totally dependent on others. There's more, though, Jennor. Do you think I am a female?)

Her eyes turned up to me and narrowed in confusion.

(I am,) I said. (At least, I consider myself one. The first host I ever had was a female Gedd. It was quite a shock, I will admit, to flow so suddenly into a gendered body. Even more difficult to acclimate to a gendered culture. So many differences, double standards. As a female, and a Gedd, I was not expected to fight. I was expected to tend the computers, dabble in intelligence work. I was good at it. That's how I ended up here. I was lucky. I found my calling on the first try. Though males often define power, it was a female that could crack the insubordinate. A female that could manage, prioritize, and lead. I requested female hosts upon promotion. Many Yeerks do not define themselves by a gender, but most do. Once they learn which kind of host better suits them, it's difficult to switch back.)

Jennor's eyes were still narrowed, waiting for me to relate it to her.

(Yeerks are born without gender. They have the opportunity to try each, to figure it out for themselves. My question is, what do you consider yourself, Jennor? A female or a male?)

She scoffed a little through her mouth. Blood dribbled out of the side.

(That is an unfair question,) I admitted. (My apologies. You hosts are different. You were born one way, and questioning whether or not that form is right for you is usually considered perverted. You never got to choose. Hosts are condemned to one set of rules through their forms, but unlike most, inexplicably, you were condemned to the other as well. An oxymoronic female warrior. Expected to be bright, and pretty, and comforting, and also frightening and powerful and murderous. What a strange and terrifying upbringing for you. Pleasing dichotomous sides that are, by definition, opposed to each other. If you were a Yeerk, you would be the most valuable. The male form: powerful, frontiering, curious and industrial. Self-centered, yet far-sighted. The female form: nurturing, maintaining, organizing, creating. Selfless, yet myopic. You can do both. Yes. If you were a Yeerk, you may have been a sub-visser by now.)

(None of that is relevant,) she said. (You're talking about cultural standards. Those are elastic. They can change.)

(Really?) I laughed. (After billions of years of a system that shelters and subdues females while recklessly endangering males, do you really think it has?)

She turned back to the heroin.

(You are a slave to the whims of men, but mostly because, deep down, you are one. Men are addicted to structure and authority. You applied yourself to that structure, and look what happened. Rather than accepting you as a competent member of their race, they abused your physical form. Your greatest strength, the ability to see past their one-dimensional struggle for ascendancy, was also your greatest weakness, because it was that which set you apart.)

I paused myself. I turned a stalk eye back to Sub-Visser 11. He watched Jennor carefully.

(Of course, power and control are not truly gendered things, no matter what you corporeals believe. I, for one, have a lot of power and control. And though you don't, it's not only men you're a slave to.)

I pressed my hoof over the red balloon. Jennor gasped. She gazed up at me, nose running pink, tears in her eyes.

(Fine, you're right!) She cried. (I'm powerless, I'm weak, I'm a stupid female who never should have gotten so involved in a world I was too impotent to handle. Is that what you want? You've won!)

(Do you know how Yeerks procreate, Jennor?) I asked. (If you were a Yeerk, do you know how it would be done? Three Yeerks come together to sacrifice themselves for a litter of grubs. There is no gestation, no mother, no father. They are equal. No gendered binary constructs the structure of our culture, just any three Yeerks who are overcome by the urge. For a while, we tried to breed Yeerks for traits. Smaller masses for simpler transit and more successful infestations, longer grappling tentacles. Some Yeerks can even go longer than the normal 70 hours without Kandrona. But after a while, we gave it up. It's like when the communists tried to tame the free market. In theory it's a wonderful idea, but in practice, there are simply too many variables to fail to see. So we let the principles of evolution guide our growth as a species. And nature, though defined by the rules she sets, delights in bending them, in diving through her own loopholes. Random triumvirates of Yeerks created offspring with surprising traits. Some of the most surprising and successful grubs came from incestuous parents.)

I stopped myself. Jennor's eyes narrowed, her eyebrows went up. She looked up at me. Then she glanced at Sub-Visser 11, getting the point. (You can spit upon Andalite culture, human decency, and moral integrity,) she said, (but spitting upon nature...)

(As far as you know,) I reasoned, (this is a crime you've already committed. In many ways, culture is more powerful than nature. Tuxebi defied nature for years, and yet doing this, something nature has no argument against, is what causes you disquiet. It would be once. It would be harmless. Offspring may result, or it may not. Considering the current state of your form, it's not a bet I would make. It doesn't matter either way. This is the price of your relief.)

Her head shook slowly, but I could see that our plan had worked. She wasn't outright disgusted. She was considering.

I released the balloon of heroin. Her eyes turned to it immediately, like a cat presented with a toy.

I felt heartburn in me again, but did nothing to rid myself of it. The snake began to inflate as well, filling me with confidence and ease. (Scant lemurs!) Terenia cried out. Her memories flooded through my mind, not only of similar nightmares from her human life, but relevant ones from her Andalite one. The image of a lovelorn little girl, just wanting the acceptance of her Father. The amount of acceptance she was about to receive made me sick.

(If you're worried about privacy, don't be,) I said. (This is between you and Sub-Visser 11. I do not consider your torment my bragging rights. I would even grant you the use of my quarters as a conjugal suite.)

Her lips seemed to form an "N" sound, but she said nothing.

(I haven't got all day, Jennor. I do have an Empire to run.) I bent down to pick the balloon and the tools.

(Wait!) She stopped me. My fingers hovered above the balloon, and a new surge of memories made me wince.

(What is it, Jennor?)

(Like this, as humans?) She whispered.

(No other way to do it,) I pointed out. (Science has provided you clever Andalites a way to desecrate nature without offending it.)

(I wouldn't be the one—)

(I'm giving you a choice, Jennor,) I said, turning my main eyes to her. (That means the responsibility for it falls to you.)

Her eyes turned away. She covered her balding head with one hand. For a long, tense moment, she didn't speak, move, or breathe.

Then she gave one dripping, bloody sob.

(Fine.)

Another flare of heartburn, and the snake hissed in satisfaction. It had surprised me. I had thought...no, I had _hoped_ that she'd have the strength to refuse me. That I wouldn't have to follow through on my end of the deal. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I released the balloon and waved the Hork-Bajir back. I couldn't say anything. Could barely contain my emotions as I made my way to the door.

I watched Sub-Visser 11 with a stalk eye. He was stripping off his skin-tight shirt and making his way to his host's daughter with a strange smile growing on his face, a smile I didn't recognize, one that gave me disquiet. His long, gnarled hair wrapped his shoulders up like a cape, like a lion's mane. I felt the mounting sensation of horror inside me, a strange empathy and intimacy, imagining the act itself, imagining the aftermath. The snake and heartburn surged, and Terenia's stale memories became fresh in my forebrain, and pity overwhelmed me. The snake knew what I was about to do, and it cut into my gut deeply, but it didn't control me.

(Sub-Visser,) I said harshly. He stopped.

(Yes, ma'am?) He asked.

(Get out of here.)

He turned around and gazed at me. His expression was inscrutable, but I got the vague sense he was furious.

(But this plan, this idea...you said that—)

(I changed my mind. Get out of here before I give your host to someone more loyal.)

He glanced back at Jennor. She had curled tightly into herself, legs crossed over valuable orifices, crying. She watched him leave, cradling the little balloon of heroin in her narrow, skeletal hands.

(Take her back to the brig,) I told the Hork-Bajir. (Let her keep the balloon and tools.)

I walked back to behind my desk and waited for Sub-Visser 11 to leave. He demorphed slowly and walked deliberately from the room, glaring at me as he left. The Hork-Bajir dragged Jennor away, and her sobs echoed across the hallway. I had developed a very sudden and sharp headache.


	78. Chapter Thirty: Part Three

PART THREE OF THREE

_That would have worked_, I kept telling myself. _That might have been the end of it_.

Why couldn't I just finish it?

I paced for a few angry minutes, finally frustrated enough to strike the wall, the grass, my desk, anything.

_You fool_, I thought. The snake surged and twisted in agreement.

I had sent Nagrit away so I wouldn't be distracted by his remote, unhelpful sense of chivalry. And look what had happened anyway.

(White knight,) Terenia agreed. I wanted to unleash all of my frustration upon her, but what good would that have done?

Love had made me soft and weak, stupid and myopic. Too concerned with the injured girl in front of me to see the effect her destruction would have on my empire. I had just perhaps sacrificed the outcome of the war on baseless pity.

I struck into the wall again, and it caused a sharp pain in my lower abdomen, between my hind legs. I gripped the wall for support and slowly sank to the ground.

I was out of shape. That sudden burst of physical exertion must have pulled a muscle. My breath caught in my chest from the sudden severity of the pain, and I nursed my lungs to relax.

I let myself fall. I curled my tail beneath my flanks and stroked my belly gently, careful to keep the blade pointed away, massaging the cramp away. A wave of something like nausea passed through me. Perhaps I had caught some Andalite disease. I'd have to go see the doctor.

A thought-speech indicator told me I had a message. It was Nagrit. I reached above my head and slapped around until I found the communications panel.

(Nagrit?) I asked. He was off of his Bug Fighter, so there was no video.

(Terliss, I'm on Earth. Visser Three has lent me the use of his trackers. We're going to start combing the forest once night falls.)

(Okay,) I responded.

(Are you all right?)

_No_, I thought. (Get to work, Sub-Visser.)

(Don't forget about your meeting with the Council, sir.) I clicked off communication before he could air anymore suspicion.

I groaned and rose to my hooves. The nausea and pain had passed. I glanced at the clock. I had about 45 minutes until the meeting. Enough time to wipe the regret and fear from my face, and ready myself for the onslaught of suspicion and impatience I was about to hear.

The Council had been the least forgiving of my procrastination. Phrases like "monumental disappointment" and "impending, inevitable demotion" had been cropping up in classified personal communiqués that we had intercepted, and in other illicit editorials on the intelligence grid. I used a small, portable holographic projector to engage in the meeting.

"I don't care if the girl is seventy pounds, limbless, bald, and reconstructed like a Picasso. If she's alive, she can communicate, and if she can communicate, she's dangerous!" Sessil was livid. His voice had been getting louder and louder over the past few weeks, and the louder it got, the less effective it became. I rubbed a temple, trying to avert the inevitable acceleration of my headache.

(Shall I cut out her tongue to ease your stress?) I asked.

"You're a fool, Empress," he said. Six of the other Council members rebuked it for him, three sat still, two shifted uncomfortably, and Seert covered a lacerated smile with his hand.

The loyalty lines were still the same, at least.

"We are worried," Persset hissed, "as we have said before. We have begun to realize that perhaps capturing the Dome Ship was not enough to ensure victory. It could still fail."

I scoffed as heartburn flared again up some tube in my upper body. (How?)

"You know more about the situation than we do," he continued. "It seems, however, that there is a lot happening on that ship that you neither recognize nor control."

I felt a rush of shameful heat prickle up my face. (I know everything that happens on this ship,) I said.

"What is the botanist's name?" Sessil screeched. "Or the third-shift junior tactician's? Can you really expect us to believe that you can recognize four hundred Andalites _by name_?"

(No, but I've divided that labor. Each of my on-board Hork-Bajir is assigned a group of fifteen Andalites. They're kept track of,) I explained. (Besides, the pool in the dome is nearing completion. We're nearly ready to head back to Yeerk Space. I won't need the Pool Ship's assistance much longer.)

"That project should have taken you less than four months," Krister, one of my most faithful allies, said quietly. "Can you say with conviction that the delays have not been due to sabotage?"

I bowed my head in surrender. I could not.

(Such a large undertaking requires copious delegation,) I explained. (All to brand-new hosts. Of course there would be glitches. Of course there would be obstacles. How many of our Controllers have had problems with their hosts and have not reported it? It's probably a larger number than any of us would like to admit.)

The Council all looked at each other.

(We thrive on competition. It is in our nature. We would much rather be successful than fair. Of course there are Yeerk liars and cheaters. This could not have been perfect. The Andalites are stable, and so are their Yeerks. Perhaps we should not be so quick to dismiss the status-quo.)

"An agreement we have reached before. You must forgive our impatience. We wish the Dome Ship to return to Yeerk Space. We wish to begin your breeding program. We wish to spawn the power and troops necessary to overtake the Andalite homeworld," Ossot said.

I nodded solemnly. (An honorable plan, and one that will take much more time than you seem to realize. This is the first step of a long journey. It was an important one, and in the right direction.)

"Let's get to the point, shall we?" Sessil interrupted. "We want some Andalite hosts."

I smiled. (Why?)

"A simple diversification of assets. Spreading our eggs to different baskets. Yes, it is ergonomically efficient to run an Andalite ship with Andalite hosts, but if something, _God forbid,_ bad were to happen, we would lose every single new source of intelligence and power. We want some hosts, Empress. We want you to spread your wealth."

I sighed. (How many?)

The human smiled. His voice quieted. "How many are you willing to part with?"

(I can give you a dozen without any real threat to internal stability,) I said. (I'll make a list.)

"That issue is settled, then," Persset hissed before Sessil could object. "We have implemented the latest intelligence you have given us. Andalite forces are failing in the Anati system, and several outlying colonies, thanks to your work. As soon as you make any headway with the computers, or Jennor, or the uninfestables, contact us immediately."

(I am optimistic about one of them,) I said.

"One of what?"

(One of the uninfestables. I'd like to try reinfesting him during his next session.)

"Keep us updated." The communicater clicked off, and I relaxed.

I did some monotonous administrative work while I waited. Nagrit was gone, and his absence caused a sort of tingling stress deep inside of me. I often hated the pounding pulse of his presence, but this was worse. It was like I had lost a ring I always wore on my finger. I could function without it, but the knowledge of its absence never left.

He searched for days. The tingling stress began to throb, like gangrene stretching down my spine. He communicated often, and I could tell he was just as restless. Dull reports without any breakthroughs, but just seeing his face was enough to make them worthwhile.

One evening, after the day's work had been completed, I went to see the physician to ascertain what was wrong with my body.

Her demeanor had changed somewhat a few months ago. A dull, lifeless thing before, she had now become personable and bright. Her bedside manner had improved considerably.

(What seems to be the problem?) She asked as she scanned me with her medical equipment.

(I haven't been feeling well,) I answered. (Strange symptoms. I've been lethargic, and I've been experiencing a surge of dissolving pain up my chest. I was told Andalite ships are entirely sterilized, but perhaps some bug is going around.)

I swallowed the heartburn back down and waited for a response. She was watching me with narrowed eyes.

(They are strange symptoms,) she said slowly.

(Are they?)

(That is what you said.)

My face twisted into a nervous expression. (Is there something very wrong with me?)

She finished the scan and smiled slowly, big. She turned her eyes up to me and seemed very relieved.

(You're absolutely healthy, sir.)

I sighed in relief. (Is this just stress, then? I've also been having strange feelings of paranoia, like something terrible is about to happen.)

(I wouldn't worry about it. It will all pass in time.)

(Is there anything you can give me to stop this heartburn? It's so intense sometimes I can barely breathe.)

(Heartburn?)

(I'm sorry, the chest pain.)

(Oh, yes. Of course.) She quickly prepared a syringe of something and injected it.

(Ahh, thank you,) I said, immediately feeling the relief, fingering the ridge that separated my ribs.

(That dose should last about 20 hours. Come back for more then.) She smiled as I left.

After six days, having scoured the forest where we found the girl and thousands of acres of untamed land as well, Nagrit finally had good news.

(Did you find him?) I asked.

He paused for a moment. (Yes.)

A surge of happiness lit me up like a lightbulb, but a moment's thought caused me to realize that it was only because it meant Nagrit was coming home.

(Bring him now, Nagrit. We'll deal with him here.)

Another pause. Why was he being so hesitant?

(All right, Terliss. I'll be back in a few hours.)

Something about the way he had sounded made me nervous, but I didn't care. He was finally coming home, and he was bringing the thing that could end Jennor with him. I found my mind flitting from the best way to deal with the boy to Nagrit's soft touch. Tingles spread down my shoulders, and I didn't know their cause. I didn't usually get a thrill from torture, but this would be very difficult not to enjoy.

When Nagrit came back, I understood his hesitation. Perhaps I should have been angry. I wasn't. I'd given him control of the mission. Deciding how to handle it was his prerogative.

(I don't think it will affect the outcome,) he said, presenting me with the leftover organic matter he'd claimed. (The fact that he's dead will be enough to crush her. She doesn't have to watch him die. She just has to know that she caused it.)

I sighed. (I suppose you're right.)

(Did I fail you?) He asked quietly. I turned my gaze up to him, once again upset that his feelings were my responsibility.

(No, Nagrit. This will work.)

(Are you sure?)

I smiled. (Yes. Jennor's life is in our hands.)

We removed the Andalite Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill's severed head from the medical bay and made our way to the brig.


	79. Chapter Thirty One: Jennor

Chapter Thirty-One

Jennor

PART ONE OF FIVE

I'd panicked. I'd consigned myself to a tight corner where no solution was possible, where I could give up this overambitious charade, where I could maybe relax for a little while. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep. I was sick of strategy, sick of plans. But patient, newly devoted Noorlin had made up his own.

Now that the Empress believed I was a _nothlit_, she would expect me to retain the injuries she delivered to me daily. Demorphing, necessary in order to confront new Andalite Controllers to liberate, would wipe the slate clean. Noorlin was confident that he could imitate whatever she did to me. I wasn't exactly sure how.

It took three sleepless nights to find out. Though my companions were accustomed to insomnia, I was not, nor was I accustomed to the rotting, sore feeling of injuries on the mend. I didn't appreciate being a medical test subject, but it was necessary work, and I would rather grit my teeth for allies than enemies any day.

The first night was devoted solely to seeing if it was possible. If we could reinjure my morphed body every night to a convincing enough degree to allay suspicion, I could continue freeing hosts as an Andalite. If not, Trylast would have to start freeing Andalite Controllers. I cringed. He would not like to know my method to ensure their holograms were programmed with enough relevant information.

(It's a shame, really. The morphing technology has made large portions of medical science obsolete,) Noorlin mourned as his eyes passed over my injuries. (I haven't set a broken bone or sutured a serious wound in decades. Warriors are proud enough to refuse it, yes, but only when their injuries can heal without the threat of death or inconvenience. I have to stop myself before I feel grateful that congenital defects and mutations still grant me a career.)

He continued to scan me. It made me uncomfortable. It had not been difficult to acclimate to the shame associated with human nudity. I had to constantly remind myself why he was gazing so intently.

(Despite my mild dissatisfaction with morphing, I must say, I never expected this is what my job would become.)

He flicked the side of his tail blade against my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. I heard a snap. I doubled over in surprise, clutching my side hard. Pain ripped through me, froze my diaphragm. I bit down hard, and finally found the strength to heave a breath of air. Heat and pain boiled from the wound. It was a sufficient test injury.

(That hurt,) I moaned to him.

(You know that was not the intention.) It wasn't an apology.

He knelt down beside my body and pressed the ossal regenerator against my ribs. I felt the familiar tickling, itching sensation as it worked. He pulled it away too quickly, then replaced it with the dermal regenerator, again stopping before the relief it offered was complete.

I winced and inhaled through my teeth. The bruise was not entirely healed, nor was the bone was entirely repaired, as a sudden stab of pain indicated.

(This could very well work, Jennor,) Noorlin said proudly.

I twisted and looked down. On my ribs was a bruise, yes, but it was not fresh. It had that gray, brown color of diffused, rotting blood, not the compact red or purple from recent trauma. I fingered it gently. It appeared about a week old.

"Yes," I said, squeezing the bruise tenderly. "Good."

(Provided, of course, none of us can be reinfested, and we don't slip up. It won't be perfect, but we're betting on the fact she won't focus as much on the specific patterns and distributions of hematomas and lacerations as we will.) He sighed. (Depending upon how badly she hurts you every day, it could take hours to reinjure you to a convincing degree. If she catches us doing this...)

"It's another complication," I said. "Not an epitaph."

(I hope you're right.)

"So do I."

I demorphed. (Do you think we'll need to use an emitter to record my injuries from day to day?)

(If you don't trust my memory,) Noorlin challenged. (I was a field medic for over a decade, Jennor. I'm an expert at cataloging and memorizing injuries.)

(I don't mean to insult you. I just want to cover all contingencies.)

(It will become challenging when your injuries begin to pile up,) he admitted. (But you're my only patient. If I can remember a diazechloripam allergy from an introductory conversation in one patient out of a hundred, I think I can handle anything she can come up with.)

I smiled. (I wish I shared the sentiment.)

He nodded gravely. (You'll want your Hermilian form to be in good shape, Jennor. Treat it well. Take it up to the Dome at night. Overfeed. Strengthen it. I'll see what kind of vitamins and supplements I can procure from the medical bay.)

(Don't—) I started, but stopped myself.

(What?)

(Nothing. Never mind.)

He eyed me carefully. (If you expect me to trust you, you'll have to come down to my level. I can't read your mind, Jennor.)

(I can only read minds when I touch someone's face.)

(But you see _something_ now, yes?)

I gazed up at him. His suspicion was too close to the truth.

(You freed Forlay,) he surmised. (Just because I told you not to?)

(That was part of the reason,) I mumbled.

(What was the rest?)

(Having complete control over the medical staff on this vessel seemed like a tactically advantageous move.)

(Do you even know what you're talking about?)

I sighed. (Not really.)

He stiffened and walked out of my cell, twitching his tail blade. (I suppose I would have done the same,) he excused. (I do not mean to judge so harshly, but...)

I shook my head. (You won't have to apologize anymore if you change, you know.)

He glanced back at me. For a moment I thought I'd angered him, but his eyes softened and he smiled.

(Well, third time's the charm, I suppose.)

I did not know what he meant, but he left before I could ask him.

The next night was the true test. The Empress had been unmotivated, simply watching and giggling as two Hork-Bajir beat me for twenty minutes. I'd lost two teeth, shattered a tibia, and was covered in a precise pattern of cuts and bruises that Noorlin seemed to grasp quickly.

I demorphed, remorphed, and allowed him to begin his sadistic work.

(That will be a problem,) Noorlin said as the holographic orange sister moon spun into view, after providing blunt and sufficient trauma to my jaw. (I know nothing about mouths.)

(You don't know much about this anatomy at all, what difference does it make? That technology works on human flesh.)

(To heal, yes, but I have nothing to remove these small bones you lost,) He said, holding a molar between his thumb and forefinger.

I sighed, gritted my teeth, and watched as he drew an archaic, steel scalpel slowly from hip to hip. (Did they remove any organs?) He asked, recalling the cut the Hork-Bajir had made.

(I don't remember.)

He glanced at me with a look of sympathy. (I suppose she won't check for that. We're doing this for aesthetics, not authenticity.)

By the third night, we had a slow routine. It would take time to speed up. Trylast and Isstarim showed a willingness to help. I wondered what that meant.

Later, I checked on Forlay.

Her reaction was not what I expected.

I opened the door late at night, having not even shimmered back into visibility yet, and she was pacing around the tiny room with a tight fist containing the emitter.

(Four hours!) She cried in rapid-fire form Beta. (I've been waiting here for four hours! Do you know what it feels like to be stuck in _aristh_'s quarters for four hours?)

(I...I'm sorry, I couldn't—)

(Don't _apologize_, I know it's not your fault. I just needed to complain about it to someone who wasn't made of compacted photons and force fields. I must say, these holograms are quite terrible conversationalists.)

(Oh,) I said. (Then, I'm not sorry.)

(As well you shouldn't be. You were the one who liberated me from that dull Yeerk, after all. I was impatient bordering on psychotic as a host. That slug never had anything interesting to say, nor did it share my affinity for physical activity. Would it be possible for me to go up to the Dome for a while? I need to take a couple of laps before I shrivel into atrophied dust.)

I gazed at her uncertainly, only half-aware she was expecting a response.

(How, um...how long will you be?) I asked.

(I can be back in twenty minutes if you don't mind waiting. Better acquire me, though, just in case. Not that I'm expecting anything to happen in twenty minutes, but if it does, you would certainly be more convincing to thwart a Yeerk in the event that they show any uncharacteristic aptitude for deduction than that overblown piece of technology would be.)

She held out her hand for me to acquire. I gazed at it uncertainly.

(I don't know if—)

(I already know you're a Hermilian, child, it would save time if you didn't pretend to be ashamed of it. Just acquire me.)

I did as I was told. (How did you know?)

The hesitation induced by her trance allowed me to catch up, but only for a moment. (You read me. I was unconscious, yes, but that doesn't mean I couldn't sense you. Did you see anything you liked?)

(Liked how?)

She paused for a moment, eyeing me closely. I still felt lost and ten steps behind. Her eyes flicked up, and the expression changed inexplicably from judgmental to enthralled. She approached me, unabashed and without permission, and put her hands on my tail. (Fascinating,) she whispered. (Absolutely fascinating.)

(Is there something—)

(Accelerated and unhindered female blade growth is a general symptom of aneuploidy, specifically monosomy 31, but unascended stalk eyes and growth hormone deficiency usually accompany it. You seem mature enough. Impaired cognitive facilities are, of course, the most limiting and obvious symptom.) She gave me a cursory and critical glance. (May I?)

I dipped my tail blade so she could inspect it.

(No, this is unlike a _Hagarat syndrome_ blade. It's perfectly formed. Retaining the more advantageous curved shape, and the marbleization is…stunning, really. This isn't a birth defect. This is art. What was this diagnosed as?)

I turned my stalk eyes away and pulled my tail blade close to my back. (I never…knew I was supposed to get it diagnosed.)

She sighed and stepped back. (You just seemed to be looking for something specific when you read me. I suppose you thought I could offer you something personal and comforting.)

She was changing topic too fast to keep up with, trying to confuse me into giving her honest answers. I realized this just as I started to say, (Well I think that…I mean, I needed to program the hologram with your medical knowledge, if that's what—)

(Don't insult me, child. Please.)

She programmed the emitter I had not taught her how to use and veiled herself with invisibility. (We'll finish this conversation when I get back.)

She returned in twelve minutes.

(All right,) she said, breathing at a much more appropriate pace. (Now we can talk.)

(I apologize for reading you. I only needed—)

(I already told you not to apologize. Apologies waste time, especially when used as placeholders for politeness. The most polite thing you could do right now is tell me exactly what is going on.)

(For the past four weeks, we've been liberating the ship. You're the ninth prisoner we've freed. I stay in the brig with your uninfestable husband, who expressly told me not to free you.)

I closed my eyes hard. Why had I chosen to say that?

She laughed a little. (I think I like you, child. I know Noorlin's uninfestable. Sort of a silly thing to be, really. She tortures him daily and plugs his hooves and keeps him from sleep. I eat, sleep, and work, much like I did before the takeover, except a Yeerk performs the actions for me. And so what? Let it, as long as it hurts no one. Men can be so noble and stupid sometimes,) she scoffed. (But now, I am free. Which I'm sure was not simply altruism on your part.)

(No, I'm afraid not. You seem to have a handle on the situation,) I said. (Just...continue to perform your duties. Don't do anything drastic. Be aware for when the time comes. The counter-offensive will begin suddenly, so you'll have to be prepared.)

(Just "be prepared?" That's it? A surreptitious plan with no code word? What kind of freedom fighter are you?)

(Well, I didn't think it was necessary to—)

(Just pick some word. Any code word. Something personal, something meaningful. Or perhaps something alien.) She grinned, smug and satisfied, and I looked away. (Yes, something alien. Of course. I'd almost forgotten that you came from Earth.)

I nodded, trying to rid my face of any emotion.

She stopped babbling and approached me. Her eyes drilled into mine, mere inches away, glassy and unblinking. She spoke slowly, which was clearly difficult for her. (My son died on Earth,) she said.

(He was a great man,) I replied, trying to keep my pupils from dilating.

(Yes, he was. I don't know who he got that from.)

She continued to stare into my eyes, and my eyebrows weakened, my cheeks trembled and blushed. I closed my eyes, then, deciding not if I was going to tell her, but how much I'd have to.

But she pulled away and didn't interrogate me any further. (I will continue to heal our friends, and you will continue to free them. Is that correct?)

(Yes.)

(Very well, then, child. I will see you on the other side.)

I took the emitter from her and went back to the brig.


	80. Chapter Thirty One: Part Two

PART TWO OF FIVE

It was a couple of days before Noorlin and Forlay had their reunion. Noorlin was averse, for some reason, to using the emitters for his own personal desires, until Trylast finally reminded him that he wouldn't be the only satisfied party in that reunion. I considered reminding him to be careful, that anything too ostentatious could result in disaster, but I didn't want to patronize him. He didn't return to the brig until just before morning, a lot of physical and emotional tension obviously dispelled.

This frustrated me. I suppose I wanted them to acknowledge that it was my work that brought them back together. I wanted thanks. I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't doing this for thanks, for them, or for any other unfortunate being aboard the Dome Ship. I was doing it for Terenia. That's why I'd come here. For Terenia. Thinking about her made me shudder. It had been long enough that the memory of her image did not inspire comfort. I pictured Terenia and saw the Empress.

I was still very much alone.

Over the next few weeks, I continued my work in freeing Andalite Controllers. I took Noorlin's advice and began returning my Andalite form to good shape. It was nice to run around on Andalite grass, however polluted it was by their pool project, something I hadn't done in years. It almost felt foreign and wrong, rushing by _Derrishoul_ trees and fractal shrubs that seem to reach out and caress you. It had been decades since I'd run like that. Getting back in shape was more difficult than I anticipated. Four weeks was long enough for her to wreak considerable damage on my body. Only four weeks for muscles to deteriorate, strength to abandon me. What damage had she done to my human body? How long until that damage was irreversible?

My human flesh was no longer warm and flush with blood, it was a cold, dead barrier between the sterile Andalite environment and the little life left inside. There were no more surges of hope, or yearning, or even hunger. My human form didn't care anymore.

The only way to deal with the inevitable heartache was to distract myself from it. I kept my mind on the present. I walked the halls of the ship when rare, free time would allow, scoping out the few remaining military officials who survived the initial assault. When I was strong enough, I would challenge the rest of them. Based on a quick glance into their minds, I'd assign them contingents. They would be my lieutenants.

I met with Dorothen late at night in his quarters to gain his input into which I should free next. He paced, twitching his tail as I stood still, watching him, combing dead fur from my arms. He rattled off a few names and addresses, mumbling resources the freed hosts could offer. Then he stopped, turned a stalk eye, and sighed.

(There was a chaperone party of five military Andalites assigned to this mission, besides the bridge crew, Jennor. You've freed me. And you've freed Neidror, and Siplit. The other two are young. Strong, but inexperienced. Do you want my honest, strategic advice?)

(That's all I ever want, Dorothen.)

(There are a few civilians on board who would probably be more helpful than the two young warriors still in her employ. And the most helpful I can think of will be so simply because he's a retired warrior himself. Experienced. Patient. A master in the art of pedagogical training methods and—)

(We really shouldn't—)

(Your father, Jennor. I recommend that you free your father next.)

(No,) I said automatically. I'd told him that subject was never to be discussed, out of the question, I'd indicated that…I started thinking through his logic, and I realized it was flawless. Yes, my father had experience with Yeerks, with training. He would be invaluable in preparing defenseless civilians for the inevitable bloodbath. He would raise the probability of our success considerably.

(Jennor, I realize—)

(_No_,) I repeated, raising my tail. I stepped forward, then back, desperate to think of an excuse to refuse his advice without relying on my own personal aversion. But my snap reaction had already told him everything he needed to know about the state of our relationship. I sighed, rubbed my face, and lowered my tail. (I can't do it, Dorothen. I've learned things…he admitted…I can't do it. I'm sorry. Who else?)

Dorothen stared sadly at me for a moment. (He gave up everything to get you back, Jennor.)

(He's the one who gave me up in the first place. Infestation is too great a punishment for anyone, but I can't…I don't know what I'd do, Dorothen. I don't know what I'd do if I got too angry.)

(And a corpse is something we could never explain away.)

I reeled for a moment like I'd been struck. Had I been implying that I could kill him?

That a part of me wanted to?

(I could do it, you know,) Dorothen said, halting for a moment, turning his gaze to me again, now straight with a little resolve. I breathed deeply, regained composure, brushed off the problem of my father. Changed focus.

We'd been over this before.

(All but twenty minutes of your day is accounted for by your duty schedule,) I reminded him.

(Twenty minutes is more than enough time to overcome Sofor, especially if I have the element of surprise. Besides, I don't mind giving up an hour of sleep every three days to double the speed of our liberation plan)

(You know they do random checks, they want their Controllers to be where they're supposed to be. If they catch you out when you're supposed to be sleeping, they could condemn your Yeerk to the pool as punishment, and I don't want to waste another emitter on that, nor do I really want to fight you again if they reinfest you. We've already agreed it's too much of a risk for us both to free hosts. I need you as back-up. You're far too important to this mission to do the risky work I do.)

(All right, all right. We'll pick someone else. I just don't want you to regret leaving him infested, Jennor.)

(The only thing I regret is holding him in such high regard for as long as I did,) I seethed. (He can wait, just like all the other Controllers who are no help to me.)

Dorothen stared at me for a moment, then shook off. (No matter. There are plenty of allies to be gained.) He rattled off a few names for me to work on, and bid me good luck with a look of pity and judgment in his eye as I retreated to the brig.

Despite being closed-minded about strategy, I was getting better at freeing hosts. I began to see patterns in their feeding habits. She had a couple of on-board portable Kandrona supplies for her and her closest advisors, but the rest of the Yeerks on the ship had to return to the Pool ship for their own sustenance. Each day, a vessel left at 1600 hours containing the hungriest Yeerks aboard the ship. I began to tabulate a schedule, targeting Yeerks who had not fed for two days. I gave an emitter to each of my three new lieutenants, who each fed on different days. Off-ship, they conjured the Andalite I was currently holding captive as their Yeerks, already seventy or seventy-five percent starved, shriveled and died. Before long, I was freeing five or six Andalites a week.

Long months drew by as my Andalite form, strengthened by Andalite water and grass, began to return to its previous state. My human form shriveled like environmental styrofoam as she worked, and spending any longer in it than absolutely necessary was torture in itself. Pain from injury sapped me, but even worse was the addiction to substance.

She continued to give me drugs, the wonderful and liberating wings that lifted me out of reality for blissful, limited periods of time, and then hurled me back down with increasing spite and anger. The fall was always worse than the ascension. It became more than special relief. It became expected. Necessary. Any moment free from the influence was spent in a sort of electric anticipation and desire. That became the best and worst part of my day. Either way, it was easily the most important. Part of me could guess her plan, but most of me was too overwhelmed with the course of it to realize.

This, however, was not enough for her. She sapped strength and replaced it with repulsion. After two months, the mere mention of the phrase "peanut butter" was enough to make me dry heave, sometimes enough to draw vomit. Two more, and I could barely think of any food without experiencing violent nausea, despite my whimpering hunger. My body contented to consume itself as the thought of eating anything else became as much of a nightmare as imagining Terenia's twenty-year imprisonment. There was no comfort to experience. There was no goal in the future or experience in the present that could make any of this tolerable.

There were only the untouched portions of my past.

She'd marred everything else. A part of me wondered what she was waiting for. She knew about him, didn't she? She'd mentioned him. He was stuck on a planet less than an hour away, ripe and defenseless as a baby colt. My fear mounted as my confidence in him waned. He could only hide for so long. What would happen when she found him?

I could not voice my concerns, with his father sitting three feet away, and the worry sat heavy and poisonous on my chest like lead. It didn't matter, though. It wasn't the only weight I bore. There were more important things to worry about.

I returned to the brig one early morning months later to find Noorlin's back half sticking out of Isstarim's cell, Trylast standing just behind.

(What's wrong?) I asked, disengaging the hologram and shimmering into view.

A green stalk eye swiveled toward me. (He's getting worse,) Noorlin said. Trylast covered his face with his hand.

I winced, remembering that I should not know about Isstarim's sickness. I walked cautiously over and peered into his cell.

He was seated on the ground, legs sticking out at odd, uncomfortable angles, face resting on the wall. He was sickly pale, paler than any Andalite should be. His thin fur was matted and sweaty, his shoulders convulsing, breathing labored. He tried to smile when I came into view, but it did nothing to comfort me.

(Is he in pain?) I whispered to Noorlin.

(Nothing I can give him will make him any more comfortable.)

(Is he like this all the time now?)

(He tries very hard to stay composed during the days.)

(I want to speak to the girl,) Isstarim said. I glanced at Noorlin. I didn't know many doctors, but I recognized the determined yet hopeless acknowledgment of a lost cause. He nodded, granting me allowance to Isstarim's cell.

I walked slowly, cautiously. Afraid. I'd seen death before. I was well acquainted with it. But not like this. Not this slow.

I knelt beside him. He smiled again and reached for my hand. I was reluctant, but allowed him to grasp it feebly. His wasn't much warmer than mine.

(The time will come, Jennor,) he said. (And you are the one who must do it.)

I stared at him for a long time. His pulse was racing, his eyes flitting, his limbs quivering. I mustered what feminine comfort I could and stroked his face lightly with my knuckles. I didn't say anything. I just sat for a while, holding his hand as he prepared to cross the threshold.

He drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep later, and Noorlin treated him, massaging his atrophied muscles, injecting him with some drug that slowed his breathing and relaxed his tail.

(You're very worried,) I said.

(This cannot end well.)

(He is dying.)

(I'm fine with an honorable death. He's lived a good life,) Noorlin said. (I'm just afraid they'll be able to reinfest him.)

(Why do you fear that, Noorlin? Why can't we be infested? How are we different? And why can't you tell me?)

Noorlin's stalk eyes looked around the corner. Trylast had gone back to his cell.

(The war had just begun to rage as I was finishing up my medical training,) Noorlin began. (Medical students are required to write a dissertation, and the war inspired mine. I wanted to research a medical solution to the Yeerk problem. Some kind of genetic modification that would make infestation impossible without making it fatal. I'd read about the Arn on the Hork-Bajir homeworld, the embolism-trigger they'd added to their own genetic makeup. That was too drastic for my intentions, but it was a good place to start.

(There wasn't much research detailing the physical act of infestation. It's an act whose intricacy borders on the impenetrable, the inexplicable. The Yeerk body is a sac containing a sticky web of neuroclamps—the things that connect the Yeerk to the neurons in the host's brain. Yeerks essentially dissolve when they enter your head, dissolve and float through the soft tissue like a fine, thin sieve. They settle into the cracks, tap into every microscopic, delicate connection, and integrate themselves into every function, memory, and cognitive reasoning facility.

(It's a traumatic experience, not only for the host, but for the Yeerk as well. Especially if it's been some time since they've had a host, or if it's their first time infesting one. They themselves cannot handle the neurological experience. They have no eyes, so their brains are not designed to handle sight. They have no unmyelinated nerves, so their brains are not designed to handle pain of injury. They borrow the hosts' coping strategies; they employ the hosts' hardware to deal with the difficulty of bearing a physical body. In a sense, they remote-control the host. This distinction, between employing a body and directly controlling it, is very subtle and ultimately vital. The physical aspect is what keeps them from controlling certain races—the Skrit, the Hawjabrans, the Kevkiss. But the mental aspect is just as important. Sometimes, the hosts' experiences or memories are too much for the Yeerk to cope with, especially if the host himself has difficulty. That is when resistance succeeds. When the trauma induced by an experience or memory cannot be controlled or endured by host, the Yeerk loses a degree of control.)

He looked away. (Yeerks cannot infest the criminally insane. It doesn't do us much good, since we can't control them either. But the spectrum of trauma they are unable to infest pushes slightly into sanity. There are some experiences that a host can barely cope with sanely that are strong enough to overcome a Yeerk. Extreme grief, for instance. Sight is a profound new experience for a Yeerk, and a hosts' brain is designed to handle it. But imagine never having any connection to the world, not through sight or smell, not through memory or experience, and then knowing the pain of losing a loved one. There is no inborn trait to deal with grief for a host, and so the Yeerk suffers even more. Imagine how shocking and unsettling that would be.)

(But Forlay lost Elfangor too,) I said. (Why isn't she uninfestable?)

Noorlin smiled sadly. (Forlay is much stronger than I am. I crumbled when we learned that news. Forlay took care of me. Forlay comforted me, like a child with a dislocated tail. Strange that her strength ended up being her greatest weakness, and my weakness turned into my greatest strength.) He sighed. (It's very subjective. One man's molehill is another man's mountain, to borrow an Earthian phrase.)

He glanced back.

(So we're just too messed up to infest?) I asked.

(Essentially. Of course, Trylast doesn't believe me. Partly because he wishes us to believe there is nothing wrong with him. And partly because of whose research my theory derives from.)

(Whose?)

(The very man who put all of us here, Jennor. The very man whose fault all of this is.)

I stared at him hard, too impatient to play his childish guessing games.

(Prince Seerow.)


	81. Chapter Thirty One: Part Three

PART THREE OF FIVE

I laughed a little. Noorlin seemed confused.

(Well, it makes sense,) I said. (He was the only Andalite scientist who got the opportunity to study Yeerks before they started killing people.)

(Despite his infamy, I think there's substance to his research,) Noorlin said. (I just wish it could be used to our advantage.)

Isstarim continued to degenerate over the course of a few more weeks. It took me a while to figure out how Noorlin's theory applied to him. Infesting us may be impossible, but only when we expended effort. It took energy to dream up all those nightmares to scare my Yeerks to death. Isstarim could not be infested because he still had the strength to resist, but that strength was quickly abandoning him. If I were sick, weak, and dying, could I muster the strength?

Could I muster the strength to do something even worse?

I had made an implicit promise to him, a weak one with a few loopholes. I'd never killed an innocent Andalite. It was one of the only evils I had yet to commit. But if Isstarim became a liability, the wrench in the gears of our entire conspiracy, if his weakness allowed him to be infested, what choice did I have?

I sensed something vital was about to happen. I had freed my 100th Andalite, and it had gotten to the point where walking through the ship at night in Cristex's body garnered curt, respectful nods and smiles. The freed Hork-Bajir were behaving. Even the angriest of the Andalites could compose themselves during their duty shifts. Forlay stood outside the brig sometimes, conversing with her husband, smile masking hard determination and cold fury. I wondered what she was up to, but could not stop to ask.

The Empress had planned a careful regimen of drugs for me to consume. I began to sense just how careful when she started taking them away. She did it slowly at first, lengthening the periods between doses, decreasing the size of the doses themselves, forcing me to prepare my own relief, allowing me to refuse it. As a human, I couldn't. As a human, she owned me. Though morphing purged the sharp, harmful residue from my blood, it did not remove the need. As a human, which was still how I spent most of my time, I was addicted.

She abandoned me for eight days.

As an Andalite, I could feel relief, feel the liberation from it, but I couldn't stay that way for long. I was growing desperate. Vomiting up nothing but the last reserves of my body's strength, shivering from cold and withdrawal.

That's when Nagrit left.

I thought she was acting strangely as she brought me to her quarters. She seemed distracted, thoughtful. Something was wrong, and I longed for my Hermilian sense to see it, longed to feel free from the addiction that made me a slave to her as surely as infestation.

When we entered her quarters, Sofor was standing within. I felt another sudden rush of nausea. Her expression of pity did not help.

I should have predicted it. I should have seen it coming. I was distracted by my plan, unwilling to tread the devious paths she had tamed and illuminated. I should not have been surprised.

But I was.

Surprised enough to see the immediacy of the act before the severity of its meaning. Surprised enough to allow my own weakness to overcome my conscience. Surprised, vulnerable, and compromised enough to say yes.

I would have done it. Even after they dragged me back to my cell and left me with the grainy little balloon and spoon and syringe, I still would have said yes. I opened the balloon, applied its contents to the spoon, and changed it with fire before I realized what I had done.

In one grand gesture, I shoved the blunt spoon into the ground, I ripped open the balloon, and I spilled the remainder of its contents, driving the dusty residue into the grass with my feet.

The exertion left me lightheaded, and I tumbled to the ground. I sobbed. I shouldn't waste water this way. I shouldn't leave myself so weak. But I could not stop.

I passed my cold hands over the pathetic patches on my scalp. I ran my fingers over bones so sharp, they should hurt, the way they cut up through my skin. My mouth tasted like rot, my gums were red, teeth loose, I couldn't breathe without gasping.

But I had to cry.

Shameful, weak, cowardly, depraved. I would have done it. If she'd been unstruck by sympathy, I would have done it. It would not have been so different. I could imagine it was not him. I could pretend like it was Aximili, like we were on Earth, like I was healthy and he was ignorant and we were happy. I could have gained comfort from it, I could have been comforted by the most deplorable act committable.

I was less than Andalite, less than human, less than Yeerk. I could defy my prince, the war, the law. I could defy every tenet of my people and still be less culpable than now, because I had not merely defied society, I had defied nature. I had broken rules so old and incorruptible that they ran through my veins and granted me life. I should be ripped apart, fed back into the Earth, or just burnt, so my evil could escape the influence of anyone else.

(What happened?) I looked up and behind me. Noorlin had disengaged my force field. I continued to cry.

(I can't do this anymore,) I said.

(Jennor, what did she do?)

I sobbed again. She'd done nothing. She'd made me an offer. She'd given me a choice. I had accepted. I had made the wrong one.

This crime was entirely my fault.

(I can't do this anymore,) I said again.

Noorlin came inside, inspecting my body. His fingertips ran over my back, pressed into my glands, stroked the stiff bruises and infections. He knew enough now to check my arms. He scanned the cell with his stalk eyes. Saw the discarded tools and heroin. Looked at me.

(You gave up that foul habit, then,) he said.

(I can't do this anymore.) I breathed.

I felt him stutter, felt him second-guess. Then he gave a subtle shift, crippled toward me just a little. The impression of righteousness and self-importance vanished. And, for just a moment, he wasn't someone I had to impress or win over. Just for now, he didn't judge me or riddle me with expectations. For just this moment, he welcomed my weakness and accepted it as his responsibility.

He opened his arms and allowed me to collapse. I sobbed into his chest, drool and tears running thick into his fur, and he rested his weak arms around my back.

(If I could acquire this form, I'd do it. For a few turns. I'd share this burden, Jennor. It's a shame she didn't trap you as something I could morph myself, maybe the obligatory _djabala_ we all had to acquire. If it were possible, I'd help you with this. I…I just need you to know that.)

I didn't draw comparisons. I didn't have the strength to hope. I sobbed until the tears were gone and only weak hiccups remained. He laid me on the grass and told me to sleep. I didn't disobey. There wasn't enough left to contradict him.

The next morning, they took Isstarim away.

Noorlin and Trylast were panicked. They tried to pull me to my feet, tried to get a response. I couldn't. I'd failed so deeply. Finally, Trylast turned me over and pressed his greatly curved tail blade against my throat.

"Yes," I whimpered, sending a trail of bile-flavored drool down my lip, "Do it fast."

(The spoiled female, still asking for things after it is clear there is nothing left. A true warrior would not be such a coward.)

(Trylast, a gentle hand, please.) Noorlin walked over and gazed down at me. (Jennor, I believe Isstarim is weakened enough that their attempts to reinfest him will not fail.)

(I was going to let my father mate with me, Noorlin. I don't even have strength enough to refuse that.)

A look of horror came over Trylast. Noorlin winced at my sudden confession, but it wasn't enough to confuse him. He gently grabbed a hand and tugged me to my feet.

(She is the supremest form of evil, Jennor. She's infected our great race with it, and we are the only antibodies left. If she infests Isstarim, she will win.)

(But Noorlin—)

(We endure these consequences, Jennor, for a very specific reason. We still fight for good. We still resist the force that can imagine such torture. We can still win. You can still repent this sin. Resist her, Jennor. Fight for this ship, for your friend, for your father. For the memory of my son. Forgive yourself of your weakness. Weakness is universal, it requires no shame. Leave it behind. Extend your limits, strengthen your resolve, get up, and go.)

Noorlin was not particularly good at inspirational speeches, but it produced the desired effect. I had stopped crying.

(You are a lot like him,) I said, wiping my face. (He's such a good man. He would never murder an Andalite, no matter how vital it was.)

(Elfangor would do what was necessary,) Noorlin said, stalk eyes hovering weakly. (Elfangor would make the right decision, Jennor.)

I looked down, almost overcome again. But I was on my feet. I was pretty sure I would not get up again if I fell.

"Oh, Noorlin," I sighed as I began to demorph.

He handed me an emitter, and I sheathed myself in invisibility before heading out to find Isstarim.

It was not difficult.

His whimpering may have been too quiet to locate in a normal form, but he seemed to know that I was looking for him. He drew me to quarters with two Hork-Bajir guards standing in front. I watched them for a moment, only feet away, invisible and holding my breath.

(It's safe,) I heard Isstarim whimper. Distracted, I trusted him blindly and opened the door.

"_Granfat_ that?" One of the Hork-Bajir asked, swiping at me haphazardly. The other Hork-Bajir turned toward him, too surprised and predisposed to think quickly enough on his feet. I felt the sharp tips of his fingers graze and cut my body. I slipped past him and inside the quarters.

"Andalite—" he began, turning inside, but the other Hork-Bajir, liberated and desperate, tackled him to the ground.

I felt the sudden, cold splash of fear and looked at Isstarim, releasing the hologram. He seemed amused and horrified, furious and relieved. I penetrated him slightly, felt the duality of presence. He was infested. His Yeerk was struggling for control, and losing, but not dead. Isstarim was no longer uninfestable.

(Do it fast, Jennor,) he said, his voice changed. I was still holding my breath. I shook my stalk eyes at him.

(I can't,) I said, shimmering back into visibility.

(My sacrifice was a given since the beginning,) he said. (I knew I was not surviving this voyage. Kill me, and—)

I watched him in horror as the Yeerk shivered back into control. (Andalite scum, she knows your treachery, she will kill you as soon as—)

His voice was quiet and gravely. I stood my ground, perfectly aware that the disturbance outside would quickly draw attention and investigation. Isstarim's gaze shifted from furious to pleading. He reached a trembling hand toward me.

(You're out of time, Jennor,) he said.

(If I murder you, I lose something irrecoverable,) I said.

(It's not murder. It's mercy.)

(Isstarim—)

(Jennor,) he said, employing that rare and powerful force. (Stop wasting time, you'll get yourself caught.)

I stepped up close to him. (Mercy,) I laughed. (Bloodspill is not mercy.)

(Those in power are burdened with the difficult responsibilities,) he said. (You will question this act for the rest of your life.)

I no longer knew who was talking. My skills were not that refined.

I shut my eyes. He would not last like this. The Yeerk was not dying. The Yeerk would control him eventually, our plan would be uncovered, Noorlin and Trylast executed, and me? My imagination was not as dark as hers. She would invent some new anguish just for me, and submerge me for as long as she could. The Andalites would lose all hope. The war would be over. The galaxy would belong to the Yeerks.

Could I really prevent all that by euthanizing one old, dying man who knew the necessity of his sacrifice? Could I be forgiven for murder because of what it would protect?

I pressed my tail blade against his throat. Half a smile came to his eyes, shadowed by horror.

(You're lucky,) I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. (You get out before it gets really tough.)

His smile became complete, and he shut his eyes. (Good luck, my child.)

I only pressed deeply enough to sever his carotid. It was no more difficult or different than killing a Yeerk. Not even much different from scratching an itch or sharpening my blade. Decapitation was too extravagant. Providing him this one iota of respect was cheap forgiveness. It was very difficult for Andalites to self-decapitate, anyway.

It felt no different than any other kill, but I knew that didn't mean anything. I'd killed an Andalite before in self-defense. A justifiable death. This, too, perhaps justifiable. But I could feel it slipping. The more I did it, the easier it would be to rationalize and forgive. I would descend further. Perhaps too far.

I worked quickly after that, carelessly. His blood washed thick over my lower arms, spurted up and hit my face. I pulled his tail forward. It was difficult and took too long. The tail thrashes in death. It is an ancient trait, advantageous to ensure the death of your enemy, or at least the last-minute protection of your family.

I listened outside of the door. More Hork-Bajir had accumulated, the fight had escalated but then pacified as I fed instructions to the uninfested Hork-Bajir. The one who'd touched me had been killed, "accidentally, in a terrible misunderstanding." Too late, however, as he had called for help. My escape would be difficult. Perhaps impossible. Maybe my death was just as imminent.

When his tail finally went slack again, I laid his tail blade by his head and coated it in his blood. Sufficient investigation would reveal the deception. I hoped surprise and horror would encourage her to clean up the scene quickly. She was not easy to horrify.

After I was satisfied with the contrived evidence, I began to plan my escape. Before I could think very hard, however, the door opened and three Hork-Bajir spilled in, followed shortly by the Empress.

She sneered and frowned at his body. I pressed myself up against the wall, allowing one slow breath before I held it again. She approached him slowly, pressing a hand to his blubbering wound.

For a long time, she didn't say anything. A Hork-Bajir still stood in the doorway, or else I would have escaped. Maybe. She seemed genuinely grieved. With her clean hand, she wiped the blood from his pallid face, staring at his open, dead eyes.

(They can be broken,) she said. (But not completely.)

I sighed in relief. She believed it.

Her stalk eye twisted around and stared straight at me.


	82. Chapter Thirty One: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FIVE

I held my breath again. Froze in place. The Hork-Bajir finally shuffled into the quarters, and I blew past him, as light on my hooves as possible, back towards the brig.

(Quickly, Noorlin!) I yelled as I entered the door.

(Did you do it?) Trylast demanded, a note of pity in his voice.

(Yes,) I responded impatiently, mid-morph. Noorlin stepped inside my quarters and began working on the parts of me that were morphed.

(What happened?) He asked.

(Just work quickly,) I said.

He obeyed, employing advanced precision and expertise that he'd gained with practice. I felt him break bones efficiently, open skin with minimal intrusion, the way a doctor does. I felt the somewhat distant, frightening pain of medical intervention. In a way, it was scarier than some bladed foe looking to inflict maximum damage, the laser-guided surety with which he worked.

Once he'd cut and broken me, he began to work on healing me. I disliked this part even more. There is nothing worse than the expectation of relief followed by the reality of continuing suffering.

He finished in just under three minutes, pulling away and scanning me quickly. (Yes, that should do it. Just keep your legs tucked up under you, so she can't see them. Can you sense her?)

(Not like this,) I said, sucking on the cut in my mouth that Noorlin had made to fake the trauma within, coating my teeth in a thin layer of fresh blood. (Get out of here.)

He nodded, exited, and reengaged my force field.

She arrived about forty seconds later.

She walked in, still without her assistant, staring at me for a while. One stalk eye scanned around and behind her, but the other passed over my injuries, the ones I began to fear were reapplied too quickly and carelessly.

(Your friend is dead,) She finally said. (We infested him, and in a desperate attempt to regain power, he committed suicide. Such a fool. But you know what it means? You can be broken. You're like wild horses, stupid with resistance, uncivilized and rough. But you can be tamed.)

(Never,) I said.

(Why?)

(Terenia,) I answered. (She'll keep you from doing the worst, and I know she will, because she already has. She's why you took me away from him yesterday. She's what gave you a soul.)

Her eyes snapped up, a little wider than before. Then she smiled. (It doesn't matter, Jennor. That was a bonus level, not the final round.)

She left without torturing me. I wondered what she meant.

I got about a week to recover. To my surprise, she left me alone. Noorlin got to heal me a little bit more each day, projecting the velocity with which injuries heal like only a trauma doctor could. He left scars that only weakly echoed the injuries that caused them, liver- and mud-colored marks and imperfections on my blanching skin. By the sixth day, I began to breathe easier. Perhaps she was going to leave me alone for good.

_The final round,_ I thought.

My eyes snapped open, and I turned over. She was standing above me. Nagrit was back. They both looked grave and curious. I rolled over so I could address them.

(Welcome back,) I said to him. He nodded in response, but it was too curt, too hesitant. Too guilty. One of his stalk eyes swiveled to the Empress. She sighed.

(It's over, Jennor,) she said.

(The more you say that, the less I believe it,) I said, rubbing crumbs from my eyes.

(I'm not suggesting it now.)

I looked up at her again. Her hands were behind her back. Blood leaked down her flanks and thwacked the soft ground. Terror gripped my throat.

(What have you done?)

She stared at me for another moment before reacting. She was pale, tired. She didn't look quite healthy. Perhaps that's why I hadn't seen her. Difficult to intimidate the powerless when you appear so merely mortal. I could see a part of her that pitied me, too. Perhaps she feared that part. The last thing she could afford was me thinking she was secretly on my side.

She nodded to her assistant. He raised his tail in preparation and he opened my force field.

She stepped in close to me. Almost over me. She could kill me from this distance, even without her blade. But she didn't. She pulled something raw, heavy, and dead from behind her back and dropped it on the ground directly in front of me.

I didn't move. I knew exactly what it was, but I couldn't confirm my theory by checking.

(It's over, Jennor,) she repeated. (I'll let you inform his father.)

Her weight shifted uncomfortably on her hooves. The assistant left the force field open and stood between three armed Hork-Bajir guading me. There was a horrible, expectant silence on the air, all focus shifted to me.

Of course I was unaware of all of that. I couldn't care about anything else. I couldn't stop staring at the wet, bloody cataclysm she had unloaded in front of me.

It was covered in some kind of sheet or cloth that quickly absorbed and thwarted the flow of blood. It was not so large, smaller than you'd expect, but I could see the curves of bone and the bumps and points of ears and stalk eye that identified the species. The sheet was gathered together like a bouquet at the bloody end. With one pull, I could unwrap it.

But I didn't. I couldn't move. My breath was caught in my chest, the last breath I drew without this terrible knowledge. Exhaling would make it real. Keeping this air in my body held me in that blissful, ignorant moment in the past. Let it suffocate me.

(What happened?) A voice rang in my mind, shocking me into a gasp. I felt a tear tumble out of my sensitive eyes. I brushed it away. How could I respond?

I was reaching, now, towards the sheet, without meaning to, without wanting to. Now that my lungs were working, my heart pumping, I felt obligated by the flow of time to wash through my denial. Fingers, arm, shoulders all shivering, first from cold, additionally from unappeasable anticipation.

The blood was cold on the sheet. My hands were almost disabled, they trembled so much, my stomach weak, bowels whining. The sheet fell away, leaving a decapitated, bloody, Andalite head face down on the ground.

That was enough evidence. I could recognize the back of him just as well as the front. But for some reason, I had to see his face.

I was too gentle. I employed the tenderness that I'd used while he was alive. I stroked that subtle bump at the back of his head, the dimples at the base of his skull. It didn't budge. I pushed. It fell over, rolling onto his ear and revealing his open, slack eyes, blood vessels burst within, like he'd had a stroke.

There he was. The face encased deeply within my subconscious, the one I'd had such trouble remembering. I wanted to forget this image immediately, but I knew that it was with me forever.

I reacted. I don't know how. Screams, sobbing, fainting, wetting or defecating myself, I don't know. I felt like I was drowning in absolute dark, unable to see which way was up, clawing at thick water, trying to find some hold or point of reference. There was nothing but the sharp pain of salt water in my lungs and eyes, the thick, impassable reality of being cut away from everything good that mattered. I was sinking, falling into the abyss, a place so deep that light and dark no longer mattered. There was no difference, because there was nothing there. Nothing has no opposite.

I don't know how long I drowned for. I searched through every positive memory in my head, and each was overruled by her infliction. Terenia, comfortless. Sofor, a disreputable stranger, incapable of affection, only ownership. And Aximili, the noble, brave, good person I'd been lucky enough to know, killed directly because I had.

It was all my fault. I had nothing. Hope was gone.

The only thing that mattered now was the amount of time it would take to join him.

But suddenly, there was light again. Something hopeful from above that I could aim my sights on. At first I wasn't sure if it came from within me, from some hidden reserve both she and I had been unaware of, but no. She really had taken everything. Someone else was here now, giving something back.

(He's not dead, Jennor,) I heard. It was like a dream, a dream of denial, the kind that are always the most imaginative and detailed, the kind with the most streamlined plots and potent wish fulfillment. _Yes_, I thought. _This dream must never end_.

(Quiet this thrashing form, Jennor, for Elder's sake,) he sighed. I gripped his face.

(She found him,) I sobbed, voice humming with energy and grief, not worrying about tempering the emotions, about hiding the truth. There was a much worse truth now than his son loving bloodfilth like me. That was a misdemeanor compared to this atrocity.

(Would it help if you demorphed for a moment?)

(She killed him, Noorlin. She mutilated him, because of me. He's dead because of me.)

(He's not dead.)

I released his face and turned over, burying my face in the ground, in my hair, in my arms, blinding myself like an ostrich, a toddler. (Don't do this, Noorlin. Don't make me pull you out too.)

(Pull me out of what?)

(What led up to this?) I wondered. (How much did he suffer? What kind of pain am I responsible for?)

(None.)

(Stop comforting me!)

I felt sharp pressure at the top of my shoulder. (Stop your childish tantrum, Jennor, and listen to me.)

I stopped blubbering. What more was there to say? I couldn't convince him, he couldn't help me, just let me cry until every bit of my life came out through my eyes.

(This is not my son, Jennor.)

(What are you looking at?!)

(It looks like him, but it's not him.)

I pulled at my hair too hard, chunks of it came out, grief diffused through pain.

(You're in denial,) I said.

(No. Unless this technology lies. But it does not. I already know that.)

I turned over.

(What are you talking about?)

He was kneeling, still pressing his tail blade against my throat. His face was hard and angry. His fists were clenched, and all eyes but one were pointed straight at me.

(So you'll listen?) He asked.

He should be crushed. Heartbroken. Unforgiving, furious, vengeful. But he did not seem overwhelmed or even that upset, just impatient.

(What technology?) I asked, betraying the slightest bit of hope.

He pulled his tail blade away, swiveled a stalk eye to the bloody head laying just to my right. He rose to his hooves and relaxed.

(I still boast far too much about my firstborn,) he said. (I should not. People grow impatient with it, focusing on the irony. How can I still promote a son who is dead? People expected perfection from him, especially when he presented gifts that were far above their expectations.)

My breathing had settled. I listened closely.

(I never mentioned Aximili to you, Jennor, because I wanted to keep him safe. I assumed, especially after she made continual threats against my wife, that the Empress would use the knowledge of his proximity against me. Things changed when you came on board. She stopped using our pasts to torture us, she focused more on physical pain than emotional torment, because you became her new favorite project. I didn't tell you about him because I didn't want you sympathizing with me. If she could hurt him to hurt me, and not only me, but you through me...)

He trailed off. I wrapped myself in my arms, avoiding his gaze.

(I wondered, I suppose. I hoped falsely. You said you were alone on Earth. I had no reason to doubt you.)

(Noorlin—)

(Be quiet, Jennor.)

His stalk eyes drooped and made a u-shape, an odd and rare gesture of complete disclosure. He watched me with narrow eyes, expression beyond the reach of my perception. For a moment, I longed for my more penetrating sense, but then I looked away.

His voice was apologetic and humbled, but I couldn't find the decency to answer him. (Why did you lie, Jennor? Why didn't you tell me my son was all right?)

I pulled my knees into my chest and buried my face in them. A healed broken bone that hadn't set right ached in this position. I ignored it.

(I thought you'd be—)

(What, upset? That my son allied himself with an Hermilian?)

(Yes!)

(That is the selfishness that defines your race, Jennor.)

(What was I supposed to do?)

Noorlin softened. His reproach subtly shifted to concern. His militant posture slumped into something defeated and sympathetic.

(I would have been upset,) he admitted.

(Yes.)

(But I wouldn't have known right away. I wouldn't have seen love, just military alliance. You could have told me he was all right.)

(You wouldn't have assumed?)

(I don't know. I didn't know you. And I don't really know him anymore, either.)

I paused for a moment, confused, before the torrent of scathing, leaden dread and despair rose up again within me. (How can you think he's alive? How can you deny this evidence?) I glanced again at the head but couldn't stand to for long. My greatest nightmare and fear brought to life.

Noorlin looked down at me. He sighed, his tail drooped, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

(I still boast about my son, Jennor, because he was great. And he was famous. People loved him. And that gave me privilege.)

He knelt down to my level and plucked one of my human wrists, drawing it towards his face. He ran it over his scalp until I hit some little, rectangular insert behind his stalk eyes. A computer chip.

(What is that?)

(Elfangor had just turned four cycles when military engineers released this classified technology to a select group of families. It had been rejected by Central Command as an infeasible means of keeping personnel under direct surveillance. Too expensive, too inefficient to implement on a grand scale. Essentially, it would eradicate the pain from the words "missing in action." I lobbied rather hard to get one, once Elfangor informed me, because of his five-year disappearance. I thought there was nothing worse than not knowing if someone you love is dead. It turns out that there is.)

I held my hand on the back of his head, staring into his eyes. (I don't understand.)

(This chip connects, through a unique micro-wormhole in Zero-Space, to a corresponding chip in Aximili's brain. It monitors his vital signs. Reports to me via direct telepathic link when anything is 15% outside of normal range. If his pulse gets above a certain rate. If his blood pressure exceeds a certain stress level. Too small to emit complicated information, like thought-speech, but valid for rote numbers and readings.) Noorlin looked down, sensing my confusion.

(It is both reassuring and overwhelming information. Terrifying, really, without context. Is his heart rate so high because he's out for a run, or because he's confronting an army of Hork-Bajir? To make it easier, my wife and I thought, at first, that it would be better if we monitored the son we each favored less.)


	83. Chapter Thirty One: Part Five

PART FIVE OF FIVE

I looked away from him in disgust, not only that they each knew which son that was, but that he was so willing to label Elfangor the favorite. (Aximili knows that,) I spat.

Noorlin nodded in remorse. (Yes, he does. I was not good at hiding it. Aximili had traits that I admired, and there were things we could share, but Elfangor was just...) He shook his head. (I know I'm not a great father. But my parenting is not under scrutiny here.)

He pulled my hand in front of his face, grasping it between both of his. (I monitor Aximili, and Forlay monitored Elfangor. When his connection was severed, when it indicated that he'd been killed...well, we didn't believe it. A glitch. How could Elfangor perish when he was surrounded by Andalite might and chivarly, and his own greatness and ingenuity? But we were not fools, and we couldn't ignore the timing. He'd been killed just after we received news that the fleet exited Zero-Space outside of Earth. Aximili's adrenaline levels were heightened for weeks. But we couldn't admit it. We had no direct proof except a flawed piece of technology until Aximili called. Then we knew. Then it was certain.)

He sighed. (The monitor does not lie, Jennor. It works. And mine tells me that Aximili is still alive.)

I shook my head slowly. (That's all you have? That's the only evidence? She could be keeping his body alive to fool the monitor, maybe she's—)

(That is possible Jennor, but unlikely. I do not believe Forlay's Yeerk informed her about the monitors. I see a better possibility. That she's been searching for Aximili since she found you, and he has continuously eluded her. Dissatisfied with waiting, she decided to create an illusion just as powerful as truth. He doesn't need to be dead for you to grieve him, Jennor, you just have to believe that he is.)

He glanced at the head. A look of vague disgust came over him as he crept down, inspecting the specimen with mustered indifference.

(These are not the eyes of a dead man, Jennor. Look.)

I glanced down for a pathetically bare moment. (I don't see any difference.)

(And this blood. It's not fresh. It's separated. A suspended transfusion.) He turned the head so it faced him. (This is what he looked like four years ago. When he first left home. This is his personnel picture.)

(It's a hologram?) I asked.

(Some new hybrid technology, I would say. There are elements of holographic projection here, but that's not all. Something physical. Genetic engineering, perhaps. It's convincing, whatever it is.)

He turned it toward me, and I looked away in disgust.

(It's not real. It's an illusion.)

I don't know what I felt just then. Perhaps a sense of justice, that she nearly destroyed me with the same ploy we were using against her. Ironic and funny for just a moment. But then the humor died. The grief died. The uncertainty and hopelessness and drowning all flushed away.

Something inside of me snapped. And I was fully aware of what it meant. That psychosis that Noorlin had mentioned, that sickness of the mind that made some Andalites uncontrollable was now mine to bear. I'd been captured, tortured physically and emotionally, corrupted, and now I'd been exposed. Humiliated. Every bit of pretense had been wiped away. Yes, something in me snapped, but only those cheap, useless parts I upheld because I had to. Now all that was left was the purest part of me, the essence, the fundamental structure. And it was dark.

I was flush with life, with power, with purpose. I hadn't had such clarity of thought since right after Trainer had caught me calling Father. The path before me was illuminated and treadable. It was time to end this pointless charade.

(She lied to me,) I said.

(You're convinced, then?) Noorlin sighed. (You're not going to try to kill yourself, or assassinate her, or do something else ridiculous and drastic?)

I stood up and began to demorph as he talked.

(I have every right to be upset with you Jennor, but you need to know that I'm not. I feared you unjustifiably. I disliked you because of what you were. But I don't anymore, Jennor, you're a worthy mate for my son. I want him to be happy, and if you are what makes him happy, then I am satisfied.)

I finished demorphing. My back was straight. My tail was high. My stalk eyes were alert and poised.

I was calm.

(You shouldn't do that now, Jennor, it's still daytime.)

I bent down and lifted up the sheet. I wiped my hands on it. They left a bloody residue.

(Jennor, what are you doing?)

I turned a stalk eye to him. He looked different now. Insignificant. I had spent far too long worrying about his opinions. Inconsequential. There was one mission here.

The Empress had to die.

Cold fury had clinched me, the same degree and type that used to control all my actions. Tuxebi's fury. Emotionless, profound, and efficient, but still fury. I didn't resist it. I welcomed it. It was time. Vengeance was close. I could smell it. It smelled like dust, like air thick with pollution that makes your breath short and cautious. I breathed in deeply despite it. I did not cough.

(Release Trylast, Noorlin. It is time.)

I stepped out of the cell.

He grabbed my arm and pressed his tail blade to my neck.

(We're not ready, Jennor. Don't let your rage overcome your actions.)

(I am in control of my actions, Noorlin. Now is the time. The plan has been complete for weeks.)

(You're lying.)

(Let me go.)

(If you die, you'll never see him again! Would you inflict this same grief on him?)

This stopped me for a moment. But my form was strong now. I swatted his untrained tail blade away, pulled my arm from his grasp, and headed out of the cell, still grasping the sheet.

The hallways were mostly empty as I walked. Some Andalites recognized me and stared at me in shock. Others were not concerned. I did not care about any of them. I had one Andalite on my mind, one whose death would ensure suffering for her just as powerful as mine. She would die, but not before feeling the same pain she'd inflicted on me.

He was very, very handsome. The kind of features that ended up in _The Warrior Chronicles_. That certainly had been no accident.

They spent most of their time together. This would make things difficult. But I was lucky. I heard him, the sweet, innocent song of his kind little mind, inside of the weapons locker taking inventory. A menial task for someone so important. Perhaps it was a hobby. He was nearly finished. I waited outside. I heard the focus of his mind shift, from chore to fantasy. Now he'd be heading to her quarters, no doubt, perhaps for an afternoon tryst.

I generally preferred late mornings. Those were wonderful and too rare.

The door opened. I gripped the sheet in front of me, twitching my tail blade in ravenous hunger.

He should have looked terrified, or shocked, or at least mildly surprised. He only seemed slightly confused and supremely saddened.

(You were different, after all,) he said.

I struck. He blocked. I stabbed. He parried. I plowed into him and herded him back inside the weapons locker, a move I'd perfected after performing it now over a hundred times.

He pushed back. I appropriated his momentum and turned it back on him, flinging him into a wall. An ugly mix of Shredders and Dracon Beams, green, blue, and red fuel cells rattled on their racks, rained upon him. Without any merciful pause, I struck. A deep gash opened on his haunch, immediately spilling blood. His eyes, filled with pity, were now sharp with determination. He grabbed one of the weapons.

(Stop this, Jennor. Stop and I'll let you go, I'll morph. I won't tell her.)

I jabbed to knock the weapon out of his hand, but he blocked me. I struck again, but his tail was there to intercept. Each collision compacted and doubled my rage. I started the progression of the intermediate _Cedrith_ maneuver. He kept to my pace, turning it into a dance, a mockery. I could feel the boiling pit within me churning with geologic pressure. I planted my back leg in the ground and gave up the routine, the art, the skill. I flung my tail as hard as I could at him. He blocked. Again. He blocked. Again. He blocked, but buckled.

Again, again, again, again, until he was on his knees, until sweeping back my blade opened cuts all over his humanoid back.

TSEWW.

I stopped for a moment. Backed up. Looked down, curious. My blue fur was singed, glossy, and wet. I touched the wound tenderly with my finger tips. They offered cool relief, but from what? There was no pain.

(That was level two, Jennor. And that's the only one you get. I'll kill you if I have to.)

I looked back at him. He'd taken my distraction as the opportunity to return to his hooves. He was heaving, sweating. Shiny and smooth and beautiful.

So, so beautiful.

I smiled. Jabbed my blade at the weapon, and this time it clattered to the ground.

I lunged. A clear head, stoicisim, an emphasis on form over power are all tenets of tail fighting. I didn't care. I barreled into him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He was bigger than me, heavier. I didn't care. I was faster. I reached my hands up and pressed them to his face, a move that shocked him, but now I didn't need to see to intercept him. I could see his mind, his intentions, his plans, his emotions, and the rage and hatred and hope and surrender screaming desperately from beneath him. With my face pressed into his chest, stalk eyes obscured by his height, I thrashed him side to side as we sparred high overhead, as his tail dipped and weaved and snapped back like a serpent, as mine twisted and flicked and hacked away at him.

He spun and flung me into the wall. I reared up and lunged again. He managed to block so I bounced off, but I was learning more and more. I lunged again, twisting at the last moment to crash into him, flank to flank. He tripped, stuttered to regain his hoofing. I stabbed again, a deep wound in his equine shoulder. He reciprocated with a long, shallow gash the entire length of my flank. We broke to survey the damage.

(Stop this, Jennor. Please. We can still go back. I don't want to kill you.)

I was breathing hard, shaking with fury. He picked up a weapon off the ground. Aimed it at me.

I reared up again, risking death for height. He fired.

Missed. Not his mistake at all. A mistake of the Yeerk weapons designers, or perhaps the Andalite ones. He'd fired a Shredder. And, unlike Dracon beams, they are designed to pull to the right.

I crashed down upon him, legs hooked around his equine shoulders. With all the strength in my haunches I flung him to the ground, twisting and tumbling right after him. But for that split second I was still standing, I had the advantage. I struck into his back as he fell, felt my tail blade graze through his spine.

We crashed in a heap on the ground, fighting now by sound, by touch, a tangled mess of sweat and hooves and tail. I twisted, he shrank, grabbing for weapons and shooting into me, the smell of singed hair and blood overpowering me. I felt none of it. I was losing blood as we tussled, and I felt the weakness start to encapsulate me, but I kept stabbing, striking, pointing my tail blade at him and stabbing without seeing where it was or where he was. Still tangled, we thrashed and flailed on the ground, into the wall, hopping and falling back with wet thumps, until finally I heard a snap.

His tail fell limp to the ground, giving a couple of pathetic twitches before going still. Desperately, he reached for a Dracon beam but I flicked it away with my tail blade.

I untangled myself, rose slowly to my hooves. His front hooves scrabbled on the ground, pulling him towards the door. I inspected him, saw where the spine was severed, how everything before it quivered with desperate, survival-instinct energy, how everything after hung limp and heavy and dead. I walked over and locked the door. Swept my stalk eyes once over my body, saw the lacerations, the burns, saw that he'd ripped a chunk of fur and meat from my haunch eight inches in diameter. It should hurt, there should be some kind of sensation, but there was nothing. There wasn't even the urge to limp.

I turned back to him. He'd managed to climb to a half-sitting position, like a well-behaved dog. It was a precarious pose, and he tumbled forward, catching me in his grasp, wrapping his arms around my waist. Not unlike how I thanked him for the food he'd so cruelly trained me to hate.

His pretty brown eyes were pathetic with regret. (I love her, Jennor,) he said.

(And I loved him.)

(Please, Jennor, it's not what you think. He's all right. He's safe. We couldn't find him!)

I pressed my hand gently to his face. Saw the sincerity in his mind, the remorse, the hope. The quality. Saw rage, and fear, and regret. Acceptance. A mix of emotions, host and Yeerk, indistinguishable and not all that different.

(I know.)

Such a pity to waste someone so beautiful.

I took off his head in one stroke. No severed carotids or subtle death for him. His head wobbled on his neck for a moment before rolling to the ground. A perfect exchange. I was in no hurry. His blood gushed over my chest, down my legs, achieved some altitude before his hearts gave out. His arms slowly slipped away, his body falling off to the side. I slowly morphed away my injuries, wiped the remaining stickiness from my hands, and methodically dealt with his remains. I destroyed the body as Tuxebi had destroyed Borrifum's. Wide-lensed, hot Dracon fire. The stink was awful, the vents and fans whirring horribly to disperse the bulk of his massive frame into thin air. I carefully wrapped his head, stalk eye twitching, in the sheet that had grown stiff with scabbed blood. My hands were slow and still. I lifted it, nestling it safely in the small of my back, and headed towards her quarters.

The hallways were more frantic now. I saw Dorothen, who gazed at me curiously.

(Inform the rest,) I told him, even though he would not recognize me like this. (You know how.)

(Yes, sir.)

Two Hork-Bajir were outside of her quarters. I'd kill them if I had to.

(Allow me entrance.)

"Today we die?" One of them whispered, the other one grinning in electric anticipation.

So they were both ours.

(Yes. We very well might.)

They opened the door and let me in.

She was standing at her window, gazing down at the rings of Saturn. He arms were folded behind her back, still covered in blood. I read her. She was terrified, sick and nauseated, but she didn't even know that I was standing there yet. She didn't know that her life was about to end.

A stalk eye turned. Then the other one. To my surprise, they smiled. Sad smiles proud of the fact that she hadn't let herself slip into denial.

I pulled the head from behind my back and dropped it to the ground. It landed with a much more realistic thud. One of his open, brown stalk eyes spilled from the cracks in the sheet.

(There,) I said. (Now you feel it, too.)

* * *

**A/N: I know you all hate me now, especially you, Breeyar98, but I have to make you hate me more. I'm moving across the country next week, and though I've got a place already, I don't have a job or a lot of other things I don't know I need yet. I can't promise an update any time soon. At this point in the narrative, I hope you have faith that I wouldn't just leave you hanging (I mean if I'm killing MCs we've got to be almost done, right?), so, as always, the promise I made in the Prologue still stands. I'll finish this. But with these last few chapters, I can't promise that it's going to be weekly. I mean, I want to update, because I'm really excited to hear what you guys think about the ending, so this warning may be as pointless as some of the previous ones. But I figure you guys deserve it.**

**As always, thanks to my reviewers, and to the rest of my readers. We're really in the home stretch now.  
**


	84. Chapter Thirty Two: Ax

Chapter Thirty-Two

Aximili

PART ONE OF FOUR

(Ax, which way now?)

I reviewed the schematic of the Pool Ship on the Bridge's tertiary control panel. A pair of Taxxon Controllers passed me. Prickles of hunger crawled up my neck and seemed to penetrate my brain, causing an overwhelming urge to surrender the mission and follow the scent, an urge so great that I turned without even meaning to, but I suppressed it, saluted to them, and continued my work.

One of Toby's footsoldiers had been taken in a raid to free Hork-Bajir hosts on one of the Yeerks' outlying bases. Thanks to some quick thinking paired with excellent aim, Toby had sealed his ears with a discarded Dracon beam. Knowing that would not hold for long, she had enlisted our help, and the assistance of her most trusted lieutenant to pinpoint the location of the abducted troop. It was a quick, hasty, messy plan, but everything was on track so far.

(The door should have opened to your right, Prince Jake.)

(Oh, sweet, I see it. Rachel, Tobias, you guys still okay?)

(What? Are we there?)

(No, not yet.)

(Well quit bothering us, then, you're comfier than my living room couch on Saturday afternoon.)

I felt a swell of anger and sadness within me, but managed again to swallow it. (Prince Jake, once you pass the breeders, the holding cell will be just to your left.)

(The what?) He paused as he passed them. (Oh, dear God.)

(What is it?)

(They're...I can't even explain...just be glad that you guys are fleas right now.) I suppose I could have explained exactly what Jake, Rachel, and Tobias had passed. The thought, however, disgusted me as well.

(Cassie, do you still have the Visser's position?) I asked.

(Yeah, he's still in his quarters. He's laughing about something.)

(Is Marco in your thought-speech range?) I asked.

(Right at the edge. He's asking if five kilometers is too close for Yeerk protocol.)

(I do not believe so. Andalite protocol dictates a distance of at least twenty for undocked ships, but the Yeerks do not follow most of our safety regulations.)

(All right, Ax,) Prince Jake said. (I'm here. How do I power these force fields down?)

(The computer is decompiling the code that enables them,) I explained, greatly distracted by a different urge at the entrance of a female Taxxon. I found this much harder to swallow down, and almost gave in to the coiling, locked-up, mind-freezing libido. (It is currently at 85 of your percents.)

(Has Ax finally developed an understanding of irony?) Marco asked. (I may die of shock.)

(Marco, you should keep your ship stationary.) I interrupted, shaking off the pheromones. (The Yeerks may become alerted—)

(I thought we were almost done here.)

(Ax—)

(Ninety-five, Prince Jake.)

(Rachel and Tobias, you guys better start demorphing. Marco, are you ready?)

(As always, Prince Jake.)

(Not cool, man.)

Marco laughed. (I thought if Ax wanted to be the funny guy, I could be the Ax. I'm ready.)

I shirked away from the computer console. It would be too late for my replacement to change anything. I began shuffling on my insect legs toward the holding cell.

(All right, Rachel, battle morph! Tobias, morph Ket. You've got to convince the Hork that you're trustworthy.) Prince Jake said.

(It's no problem, Jake-o. I've done this before.)

(Ooh, looky there, bird-boy's got some resume padding.)

(Oh, no. Ax, we could use a distraction if you're close! Cassie, go meet Marco at rendezvous.)

(You sure you guys don't need any help?)

(Go, Cassie.)

I began demorphing as I walked. Hork-Bajir noticed, scampering to alert their Visser. None confronted me, either too frightened, too apathetic, or already under standing orders to permit our approach. The Visser often preferred to handle us himself. Without my tail blade, I could do nothing to curb their retreat. As soon as I was able, I broke into a trot as Taxxon shells dissolved into a gel-like substance into my body and fur erupted, a sudden chill running over my skin.

I turned into the hallway that contained the holding cell. Prince Jake was grappling a Hork-Bajir away by the hand in a feline, almost playful way, growls echoing strangely in the warped acoustics of the ship. Rachel stood in front of Tobias, haunches raised, guarding his slow retreat. Tobias had the Hork-Bajir hostage wrapped as carefully in his arms as possible, inching him out of the cell and towards the rendezvous point.

I joined the fray just as Visser Three emerged from the other end of the hallway. A rush of nearly uncontrollable fury overtook me. My fur puffed out, my tail grew stiff and contracted. I had already packed down a lot of influential emotions today, and this was one I did not want to suppress.

He paused when he saw us. I prepared myself for whatever new monstrous morph he was about to unleash, but to my surprise, he halted, relaxed, and smiled. (Stop,) he told his Hork-Bajir. Prince Jake snapped once more at the Hork-Bajir's bloodied arm before backing up towards me, towards the rendezvous point, towards escape.

The Visser continued his advance slowly, with confidence, without anxiety or hate. Prince Jake growled next to Rachel and I. Tobias coddled the crying Hork-Bajir behind us. We retreated slowly. My tail blade struck forward, impatient, desperate to cut into my brother's murderer, an almost remote consciousness and desire which I granted full independence from my self-control and conscience.

The Visser stared at me. His smile began to wane, but not into disquiet or recognition. Into decision.

(Let them go,) he said. The Hork-Bajir looked at him frantically while Rachel, Jake and I exchanged troubled looks.

(What is he doing?) Tobias hissed. I glanced back at him. The Visser's eyes were still on me.

(You should not have come here, boy. You've forced me to make a very difficult decision.)

(More difficult than running like a coward the last time we met?)

(We were hours from getting the location of the rebel Hork-Bajir from that renegade,) the Visser sighed. (But I will gladly give him up in exchange for you.)

I blinked. Prince Jake noticed my hesitation.

(What is he saying to you?) He asked.

(I...)

(A free colony of Hork-Bajir, your incessant survival, growing dissent and disapproval amongst the masses…all could be politically rectified, you see, if she had something to show for her continued failures. Amazing all she's willing to sacrifice for you. I'm not sure that I'll ever fully understand it.) His smile grew wider, more maniacal. (What do you say, son? Do you really need additional encouragement? You Andalites seemed so favorable of self-sacrifice, I didn't think I'd need to offer any.)

(What additional encouragement?) I asked. The Visser smiled, as if my question or tone had answered some question he had. I was curious. He'd given me next to no information and yet, I desperately wanted to hear what he had to say.

(Let's get out of here,) Prince Jake said. I stepped forward.

(Wait for me,) I told him.

(Just hurry up, Ax!) He said as he, Tobias, the Hork-Bajir, and Rachel fled.

(What additional encouragement?) I repeated to the Visser.

(You make your decision before you even know if I'm lying. You're all exactly the same, you'd sell your souls for a chance at martyrdom. Can't you put up a little fight to make this more convincing?)

I began backing away, but he was advancing quickly. Within range of my tail now. The temptation for revenge was a smell, like the irresistible smell of flesh to my recent Taxxon senses, a desire I was inches from fulfilling.

(Very well then, Andalite. Your value far exceeds that of a husk Hork-Bajir, anyway.)

My hooves were positioned to pivot and escape. I was electric, waiting for him to divulge how I was involved in this, what he wanted me for, why I was valuable. Instead, the Visser struck. I blocked. I turned and ran.

(So reunion is not your concern!) He asked as a multitude of Hork-Bajir tore after me. I ran through the convoluted, labyrinthine hallways and dropshafts of his Pool Ship as the Hork-Bajir continued to advance. They swiped at me, gathered chunks of fur and flesh, shot at me, leaving gaping, charred holes in my flanks, tripped me up and sent me reeling into the steel walls of the ship.

Then I felt the explosion. Air rushed past me, unlikely currents of wind in the hermetic vessel. If I hadn't disabled the force fields, the danger would be neutralized, and so would my only escape. The Hork-Bajir were momentarily stunned. I followed the cold.

Wind rushed past me, so powerful that my hooves began to slip, the vacuum of space pulling everything towards it. Low pressure combating high pressure. I gulped a few final breaths of oxygen before I saw the gaping, funnelling hole Marco had fired into the ship, air moving so fast that it became visible slipstreams of atmosphere.

I clung to the walls weakly, hooking my tail into the steel like a grappling hook, positioning myself to make the jump as accurately as possible. The current became so powerful that even my tail blade could not hold me, and it ripped an unclean, serrated gash in the hull wall. I would have to trust Marco's skill to scoop me up. I did not even think about the medical risk involved in jumping into the absolute nothing of outer space. I did not feel confident in any aspect of this terrible plan.

There was still air at the opening, but not enough to inhale. Wind rushed passed me, my stalk eyes flailed, unusable, my fingers were stiff on the jagged frame of the hole, trying to maintain my position and aim. The outer docking bay of the Bug Fighter was open. It was a spot of white almost 200 feet away. Like scoring in driftball from mid-field.

(Come on, Ax!) Tobias shouted. He was still in Hork-Bajir morph. I could see him clutch the edge of the docking bay, could almost see the frost developing around his eyes. They were acclimated to a low-oxygen environment, but not one this devoid.

I jumped.

The projectile force from the air helped me, but not much. Space was strange on my skin. My open wounds boiled and burned and curdled like milk, and a sudden chill overcome me as heat transferred to allow it. Pain as blood vessels burst, as water and heat rose to the surface from deep within. My eyes were closed, keeping the moisture from boiling on contact. It was not pleasant. I could not change my direction or see if I was headed in the right one. I felt sweat glands tremble and burst. My stalk eyes and fingertips froze. My life was in the hands of a human child who had done this less than three times before.

I felt my hoof strike metal. One of my stalk eyes snapped off from the force of the collision. Tobias grabbed me roughly and pulled me inside.

(Go!) He shouted. (Jeez, Ax, you better morph, you don't look too hot. Actually, you look really cold.)

(Is the hatch closed?) I asked.

(Now it is.)

I morphed to human, shivering on the floor, heaving deep breaths of oxygen. My arms clutched my trembling, rigid body tightly. Cassie opened the inner hatch and wrapped me in a thermal blanket.

"Thank you," I chattered. She smiled.

I felt the hum and push of acceleration as Marco punched maximum burn, rocketing back towards Earth. My human form shivered from stress and cold before I digested what the Visser had said.

_Reunion_.

"He has her," I whispered. Cassie looked at me, then at Tobias, who reached down with a human hand.

"Ax, you really shouldn't—"

"He has her! We have to go back!"

I jumped to my feet and crashed through the inner hatch. Prince Jake was waving his arms as Rachel stood behind, aiming a Dracon Beam, trying to calm the young, disturbed Hork-Bajir hostage. Marco was at the controls.

"I'm getting pretty good at this, huh, Ax? If only Bug Fighters were an acceptable vehicle to take your driver's test, I might not have failed."

I moved in beside him and revived the secondary controls.

"Hey listen, if you're bored, I thought I saw some Bug Fighters come after us—"

The ship surged to the right as I transferred controls to my panel.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Tobias, get him out of there!" Prince Jake yelled. Tobias obeyed, coming up behind me, grabbing my arms behind my back. I violently threw him off.

"Ax, stop!" Cassie shouted. Rachel turned the Dracon Beam on me as the Hork-Bajir screamed and struck Prince Jake across the face. His legs kicked up and he fell back, hard, smacking his temple on the edge of the control panel platform.

I paused. Tobias tackled me, and my unstable human legs crumpled beneath me. My breath was caught in my chest. Marco reclaimed control of the ship and continued his course to Earth.

"Come on, Ax," Tobias said as he scooped me up and brought me to the back of the ship.

I was in shock as he sat me down. I could not believe that I had compromised the mission to such an unforgivable degree.

Cassie returned with the thermal blanket. "Those Bug Fighters broke off pursuit, for some weird reason," she whispered as she wrapped it around me. "We're fine. Don't worry."

"Cassie—" I began.

"Just sit here until we get home, all right?"

I complied. I couldn't help, so I bothered no one. The trip only took eighteen minutes. Cassie spoke with Prince Jake, who seemed to be growing even more agitated from their conversation. Finally she took his hand and he nodded and sighed.

We needed to destroy the Bug Fighter once we disembarked, and it needed to be far enough away from our desired destination to minimize the possibility of being tracked. Tobias had experience calming young Hork-Bajir, and I had experience destroying mid-sized transports. It was just after dusk when the fires settled.

"All right," Prince Jake said, rubbing a newly forming bruise on his cheekbone. "Tobias, take the kid back to the valley. Everyone who has school tomorrow, go home."

"Jake, I think this war has finally gotten to you."

Prince Jake looked suspicious. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Parent-teacher conferences? It's Wednesday. We get a long weekend."

"Oh, that's this week? I thought I had more time to bring up my math grade."

"Do you think you'll get grounded from the dance?" Rachel asked.

"You better not. You just said you'd be my wingman for Cynthia!"

"If I am, I'll just ask one of the Chee to cover for me."

"Jake, you shouldn't abuse them like that." Cassie said.

I was staring off into the woods, ignoring them for the most part.

"No, Cassie. No. We deserve a perk or two. Jake has a C in math because we had to destroy The Sharing's cold-calling center and he missed a test. The Chee couldn't cover for him then, remember? They owe him that."

"Yeah, I'm kind of with Marco," Rachel said. "Besides, Jake's the only one who's got a license."

"Oh," Cassie said. "Okay, well, fine, but if they say no, we're not pushing the matter."

"I am so beat," Jake said, wiping his hands over his hair. "Let's just go home, we'll figure this out later." He looked at me for a second before morphing, an intense look that I almost mistook for a glare. Cassie stayed behind as the rest of them flew off for the night.

"Ax, are you okay?" She asked, taking my hand.

"Yes. Overcome by a moment of exhaustion is all."

She did not respond for a while. "You should come to the dance on Friday."

I turned to her. Her eyes were resolute and unblinking in the near dark. I got the feeling she did not intend for me to choose.

"I do not wish to impose," I said.

"It's no imposition, Ax. Do it for me. Marco wants Jake to be his wingman. I don't mind, but I don't want to be left alone, either. Come on. Be my date."

I gazed down at our interlaced hands. It had been a very long time since I had touched another human's flesh.

"I would never leave you all alone, Cassie," I finally conceded.

She smiled, teeth reflective in the moonlight, standing out against her dark skin. "Good. Come by the barn at about 7:30 on Friday?" She asked.

"All right."


	85. Chapter Thirty Two: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

Cassie flew off for the night, and I spent a few minutes deciding how I wanted to spend mine. I chose raccoon. They were nocturnal, and I did not feel much like sleeping. There was no refuge in sleep. I found I could manipulate my circadian rhythms through the use of different morphs. Diurnals at day, nocturnals at night. Sleeplessness without total exhaustion. It left me bland and quiet. My friends seemed to prefer me that way.

I wandered through the forest for a while, aimless, restless, conflicted, until I arrived at a clearing that I often ended up in. At sunrise, I climbed into a tree and prepared to take a small nap before morphing to something that did not grow tired with the emergence of the sun. I needed some rest, no matter how much I hated what came to me in my subconscious.

Fortunately for me, my quest for sleep was interrupted.

I was just dozing off, nestled in the nook of a branch about twenty feet off the ground, when I felt a tremor of percussive shock run beneath me. I woke up and peered down.

(Don't do that.)

"Why not? I'm restless. We should have found this kid months ago."

(If you're anxious, I can recommend you as an honored, notoriously short-lived member of Visser Three's personal guard.)

"Forgive me, Sub-Visser."

(Just stop complaining. We're all...impatient.)

More tremors crawled through the tree, much subtler and more anxious. "My host is hungry."

(Very well. Let's take a break.)

I felt something cold and constrictive grasp my heart. I gripped the tree hard, trying to appear natural but unable to surrender my position that made the sudden threat undeniable.

There was a live Andalite below me. A live Andalite who was not Visser Three.

I did not know whether to cry, laugh, scream, attack, evade, or do nothing. It took me a moment to grasp the event, the context, and then the truth. An Andalite with two Hork-Bajir guards. Perhaps they were in morph? What were they looking for? My hazy brain searched through their conversation…Sub-Visser. The Hork-Bajir had called the Andalite Sub-Visser.

He was infested.

I felt myself stiffen in fear at this, but not because these creatures threatened the raccoon. The raccoon was alert, but safely hidden away high in a tree. He wanted me to stay still, stowed safely from view.

But I had to watch.

A human, dressed in camouflaged pants, hiking boots, and a white tank top, crashed suddenly through the forest. I glanced back at the Hork-Bajir, thinking maybe they were being tracked, but they rolled their eyes at him. The Andalite acknowledged him with a stalk eye, but nothing more. The Hork-Bajir guffawed. I realized that the human was with them.

"Can we not travel at half of mach one? You don't know…" he huffed deeply, still catching his breath. "…how many potential clues and…signs we may have…missed."

The other Hork-Bajir walked over to a tree about 50 feet away, croaking his Hork-Bajir laugh. "Humans. Sometimes I wonder why we're wasting so much time with these pasty, slow, flabby things." He sliced into the bark and cut himself a large, triangular swatch. The Andalite was in between that tree and mine, just below me, standing sentinel with slowly revolving stalk eyes.

"I'll have you know," the human began, removing his backpack and pulling out a bottle of water and protein bar, "that my host has run 3 marathons. New York, Boston, Chicago. Three consecutive years. He is in incredible shape."

"What, you think you can take on one of us?" The first Hork-Bajir asked, chewing through the dirty tree bark. He groaned and artlessly scraped off the rough layer with his wrist blade.

The human balked. "No, I just think you're giving too little credit to this species. Four legs on him, two legs and a tail on each of you, and I'm still keeping up."

"You're wearing out that form. He won't last the month."

The Andalite's eyes swept the forest slowly. Always on guard, like an Andalite warrior should be. Despite his stature, he appeared exhausted. Stressed. Unsuccessful. As much as I wanted to run down the tree, demorph, and converse with a member of my race, I knew it was worse than suicide. Perhaps a good price. I shook my head and continued to watch.

"This tastes terrible," the Hork-Bajir said, scraping sappy residue off his tongue with his upper teeth.

"That's an oak. Oaks are very bitter. You know what's even worse, though?"

"Birch," all three said at the same time. The Andalite's eyes continued to sweep. He shifted uncomfortably on his hooves.

(Does the Visser allow you to harvest Earth trees often?) He asked.

"No, not usually. Sometimes he's desperate, though. He feeds us that pulpy nutritional supplement down in the pool, but when we're on away missions we usually have to make do with what's available."

"That is one nice thing about this species. Native food," the human said, patting his stomach smugly.

(None of you ever had to do away missions on the Taxxon homeworld,) the Andalite said with a scoff. (There are no trees there. We had to eat the discarded shells of adolescent Taxxons.)

The Hork-Bajir laughed and gagged. "How did you even manage that?"

The Andalite's comedic timing was better than my own. (Ketchup,) he said. The Hork-Bajir glanced at each other uncertainly. Of course they would not understand an Earth joke. I wondered why the Andalite did. The human scoffed, tearing off another piece of protein bar with his teeth.

The Andalite stepped out of the shade, and into a more direct line of sight. He was perhaps a dozen years older than myself, maybe more. He was broad, well-built, intimidating. He did not hold his tail or stalk eyes especially high, but more out of humility than submission. He was the kind of warrior I aspired to be, filled with a sort of reserved confidence and hibernating lethality. His eyes swept around again, and I got a better look. They were a dark, exotic brown.

There are not many Andalites with brown eyes.

"I can't eat anymore of this." The Hork-Bajir said, dropping it to the ground.

(Finish it or destroy it. I want to leave as little evidence of our trek as possible.)

"Here, let me, I've taught myself how not to taste it," said the other Hork-Bajir. He folded the bark like a burrito and swallowed it whole.

"I can't do that. It gives me indigestion."

"Small price to pay," responded the other, stroking his sternum.

I looked back at the Andalite. He was checking a hand-scanner.

(We've been here before, haven't we?)

"I already said this is our third sweep of this sector," the human said, taking a gulp of water and wiping the residue away with the back of his forearm.

(This is pointless,) he muttered to himself.

A Hork-Bajir nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we know. He's gone. The Visser is right. We haven't found any recent evidence of his presence, and we won't. Why would he stick around after you destroyed his scoop? You should have grabbed him then."

My throat clenched, but I moved closer, gripping the bark hard in my paws and pressing my chin against the branch.

(We made the right decision,) the Andalite said, raising his tail blade, sweeping his eyes around the area again. (Our objective was to apprehend the girl, and that mission was a success.)

"Well, now you have a new objective," the other Hork-Bajir said. "Don't they teach you high-rankers anything about planning ahead?"

(It's a wonder you have survived the Visser's temper and self-esteem with an attitude like that,) the Andalite spat back. (Let's scan the area and be done with it.)

"Sir," the human said, taking a step forward, gulping. "I've got something."

(What is it?)

The human held a scanner and followed it like a metal detector. I could hear the accelerating beeping from my position up in the tree.

"Here," he whispered, leaning down. He pulled back some grass and beckoned the Andalite over. "A hoofprint."

(Are you sure it's Andalite? Are you sure it's not mine?)

"Yes," he responded. "It matches his DNA pattern."

My mind was reeling with this sudden influx of new information. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't been in my Andalite form on Earth in over two weeks...was that this meadow? Yes, it was. Why had I done that? Why had I exposed myself when I knew I was supposed to be hiding?

(Less than three weeks ago,) the Andalite said. (He's still here.)

"I'm honestly in shock," a Hork-Bajir said. "What kind of foolish Andalite would stick around after his scoop is destroyed?"

(One who has something to stick around for,) the Andalite said with a strange, empathetic air. (What direction was that hoof print pointed in?)

"It was three weeks ago, sir."

(Look for more. See if you can find any kind of pattern. I want to—)

His stalk eye swept upward. He was staring right at me.

"Sir?"

The stalk eye narrowed when confronted with my presence. The raccoon was uninterested, and I should have sheathed myself in the protection of its wild indifference, but the revelation that had just been bestowed on me could not be shelved away just yet. The human continued to scour the ground, and the Hork-Bajir began to spar, but I only watched back, glaring at the Yeerk who had openly admitted that I was his target. He stared for a long time with his single stalk eye, considering me, challenging me. I should have let it go. I should have turned into myself like the raccoon wanted to, I should have gone back to sleep.

They had invaded my mind, my life, and now my land. I wanted him to die. I wanted them all to die, and I wanted to kill them now. I bared my teeth in challenge, and I growled.

His eye narrowed in curiosity.

We gazed in motionless stalemate for a while, the two of us considering, sizing the other up. I was broiling with rage, barely containing the urge to invite him into a duel, to taunt (Come get me,) to demorph and forgo any social niceties, but fleeting threads of rational fear kept me from attacking him right there. And he stood still, curious, indecisive. What was he waiting for?

After an eternity, the eye turned away, back toward his troops.

"There, the tracks go northeast, back towards the creek. I think we should…" The human paused, confused. "But, sir, this discovery clearly requires further—" The human fell silent when met with the Andalite's gaze. He shrunk into a submissive posture, zipped up his backpack, and began to head out of the clearing.

The Hork-Bajir looked confused, but turned around and followed. The Andalite stood tall, sweeping his stalk eyes around once more. He bristled with some incomprehensible emotion, then slowly followed his guards out of the field.

He'd delivered some private order. He'd chosen to keep it from me.

I breathed again, waited until noon, climbed down from my nook, and demorphed.

I hadn't been outdoors in my Andalite form in weeks. It felt strange—I was more at home than ever, but I could still feel the constrictions applied by Earth's atmosphere. The sour grass, thick air. I breathed it deeply.

_You fool_, I thought to myself. I stepped over to the hoofprint, examining it closely. I remembered why I'd demorphed. I had slept as a human in the forest, gazing at the stars, naked, swathed in prickly, unfriendly grass. I'd woken in the mid-morning from a rather vivid, confusing dream. She'd told me to meet her by the creek, so I'd demorphed and obeyed, foolishly clinging to the warped, hopeless unreality of my dream, that maybe it had been true.

It was better than the alternatives. Perhaps that's why I'd followed it. Even in absence, she could manipulate me.

Irrational anger gripped me hard, and I raised my foreleg high, stomping out the hoof print again and again until my muscles cramped. I broke into a gallop and tore down the valley, through the trees, after the vicious, invasive Yeerks. If they wanted me, fine. They could have me.

I galloped at full speed for twenty minutes before the Earth's heavy air drowned me and I had to stop. I didn't even know where I was anymore. Someplace new. Someplace very far away.

Why couldn't I just be left alone?

Why were they here? Why were they looking for me? What had I done to deserve such special treatment? Those Hork-Bajir were obviously not Visser Three's, this search was not just a normal part of his goal to find and subdue his Andalite Bandits. This was something else. A new threat. Another Andalite Controller. Independent, powerful, respected. A Sub-Visser who didn't answer to the Abomination.

I hadn't heard anything about additional Andalite Controllers since she'd left.

My mind worked hard to keep the two events from meshing into one logical conclusion. These were just bounty hunters, purging the galaxy of any small, unorganized threats. They had nothing to do with her. She was far away, and good riddance. The farther I could be from her poisonous influence, the better.

A stab of pain in my chest. I pressed my hand to my heart. I was still catching my breath.

Why did I even care? She'd been gone for months, and I knew she was never coming back. I'd assumed she was dead, but this seemed to contradict that.

_They mentioned her_.

I scoffed. It didn't matter. Alive, dead, it was inconsequential. She was outside of the realm of my responsibility. That was all that mattered.

But why had they come after me?

I did not morph for a few hours. I was stuck in my contemplative cycle, reviewing my logic that I couldn't yet bring to conclusion. I suppose standing in the brown and green forest made me conspicuous. I knew this. I wanted to be found. Just not by who found me.

(Hey, Ax-man,) Tobias' cautious voice chimed in my mind. I sighed.

(Hello, Tobias.)

(Haven't seen you like that in a long time.)

(Yes.) I began morphing to mosquito. I was nearly invisible that way.

(Did you see them too?)

I paused mid-morph.

(See whom?)

(So you did.)

I continued morphing. (I don't know what it means.)

(It means it's good you're hiding.)

(Is it?)

(They're looking for you.)

(They nearly found me.)

(Do you know who they are?)

(I don't want to think about it.)

(So you do.)

I stopped again, feeling a rush of velcro impatience bristle inside of me. (Do you want something, Tobias?)

(Just wanted to check that you're okay.)

(I'm fine.)

(I have to tell Jake, Ax.)

(I know.)

(What are you going to do?)

(Nothing.)

(You sure?)

I finished morphing. I allowed my mind, stumbling with thoughts of action and inaction, admittance and denial, to slip into the void of Zero Space. The mosquito took over. Carbon dioxide was all around me. I hovered slowly toward something glowing and alive.

(Yes.)

Tobias left shortly after. I hovered through the day, into night, into morning. I could find nothing to distract me. I filled my tiny mosquito body with blood quickly, and rested on a tree for much of the night. I felt a quivering restlessness that I hadn't the energy or desire to feel in months. I knew this feeling. Hindsight. The knowledge that you made a mistake, the conflicting desire to change it and resignation that change is impossible.

But what did I regret? I had acted correctly. Eavesdropped on a direct threat, concealed myself.

But I hadn't really. I should have acted like the raccoon, and I had not. I'd done everything to expose myself save screaming at him. The Yeerk had acted incorrectly. He'd seen me. Recognized my unnatural behavior. He should have investigated. Why had he ignored me?

I found myself wishing that he hadn't.

I should have engaged them. I should have given myself over. I should have informed them they'd found their target.

I snapped back into reality. It was 5:30. I had to meet Cassie in two hours.

I absent-mindedly morphed to human. I was too far away to travel to Cassie's barn in this form, but the knowledge that I would need it soon ushered me into it. I pressed myself up against the tree and sighed. The air was no longer heavy. It was satisfying. I breathed deeply, pressing my hand against my lower abdomen. I felt my diaphragm work to pull air from the sky, felt the percussive shock of heartbeats in my ear drums. Some insect crawled up my arm. I did not interrupt its progress.

_Why did you leave me here?_

I decided to be early to Cassie's.


	86. Chapter Thirty Two: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

I surprised her when she entered her barn to fill the horses' troughs. I emerged from within a stable, wearing only my morphing clothing. She dropped the bucket with a start.

"My apologies," I said, rushing over to help her.

"It's okay, it's not like we ever had a handle on this mildew problem," she sighed, wringing the water out of her overalls. "You're early."

"Yes," I said. "I assumed preparations were necessary."

"No, not at all. You're going theme."

I bit my lip in confusion. "Is that normal?"

"Normal enough. Are you worried?"

"Should I be?"

Cassie laughed a little. "Why don't you come inside, Ax?"

Cassie bid me entrance into her home. Her mother was in the kitchen, draining spaghetti, and her father was reading news information on their home computer through the human intelligence grid.

"Hey Cass, dinner's almost ready," her mother said. "Could you—oh, Phillip. Hello."

"Yeah, Mom, I forgot to tell you, Phillip came back in town for homecoming."

"Back in town?" Her father asked. "I thought you went back to Canada at the end of last year."

"I made many friends during my visit," I said, reciting the lies we'd rehearsed ad infinitum. "Friendship fears no distance."

"Amen to that," Cassie's father said, raising a glass of wine in my direction. "So who are you taking to the dance, Phillip?"

"Cassie has invited me as her date."

"Really, Cass? I thought that Jake kid left a rose in your locker and asked you during lunch."

"Walter!"

"We're all going. It's more of a group thing. Our place was just the most convenient for Phillip to come to."

"Really?"

"I've got his outfit up in my room. I'll set the table after I get him dressed."

"All right, be sure to set a place for him, too. You're always welcome here, you know, Canadian or not."

"_Walter_."

Cassie brought me upstairs and unveiled my outfit.

"Is this an acceptable piece of human formal ware?"

"No, but don't worry. Marco and Tobias are wearing the same thing."

I sighed and draped the grass skirt over a chair. "Cassie, your parents seemed disturbed that you were not attending the dance with Prince Jake. I did not realize that the dance in question was homecoming. I realize it is an important human rite of passage, and I do not wish to ruin it for you."

Cassie shook her head and smiled. "Ax, I hate to say it, but I'm not so sure that important human rites of passage really apply to us anymore. Put on the skirt, my parents will get a kick out of it."

There was also a pair of swimming trunks in the bag. I emerged from the staircase to a mild look of shock from Cassie's father, and concealed laughter from her mother.

"Cassie, what are you doing to that poor boy?" Her mother asked.

"He's going theme. So am I."

"What's the theme? Mortifying embarrassment?"

"No, it's Polynesian Fantasy. A lot of kids will be dressed like that!"

"Remember the days when homecoming was about carnation corsages and borrowing the convertible from your dad for the night?" Walter mused. "Now kids are dressing up like it's Halloween."

"Eat your spaghetti, Walter."

At 7:30, after dinner, Prince Jake came to pick Cassie and me up for the dance.

"Dragged us both down, huh?" Tobias muttered, wearing a similar grass skirt and multiple flowered leis. "It would be nice if I felt as comfortable now as I did with Taylor."

Rachel heard him and appeared pleased that Tobias felt comfortable enough to joke about it. "You'll be with me, Tobias. No one will doubt you, grass skirt or no."

"I wish I shared your confidence."

"You do. I've got enough for both of us."

"Ax, weren't you always curious about Earth's fantastic and varied cultures? Now you get to see the most embarrassing one," Marco said.

"You better change your attitude. You know Cynthia is a quarter Hawaiian." Prince Jake warned.

"My exotic temptress, how she delights me," Marco sighed. "Think positive. Grass skirt equals masculinity. Grass skirt is macho. I am macho. I can turn into a Gorilla, for God's sake, of course I'm macho."

"Just don't tell her that," Prince Jake said. "How's it going, Ax? You look good."

"I am not comfortable," I said. I did not specify to what I was referring.

"I don't think any of us are," Prince Jake agreed. "Oh well. Let's get going."

We arrived at the high school about twenty minutes later. On the way, the Animorphs played some music performed by a steel drum artist in order to "set the mood."

"Steel drums are Caribbean," Rachel scoffed. "Who picked this?"

"If you are looking for someone to blame, it's Jake's fault," Marco said.

"What are you talking about? This is your CD."

"Why didn't you tell me Polynesia wasn't in the Caribbean?"

"You've flown to the Arctic in a Bug Fighter and you don't know where Polynesia is? You probably think Portugal is in South America too, don't you?" Tobias asked.

"Wait, it's not?"

The window in the car was fogging. I pressed my finger against it and pulled, creating a wavy line. Cassie grasped my opposite hand. It surprised me, and I nearly pulled it away, but I let her hold it until we arrived.

The dance was loud and crowded. For a time, none of the humans were dancing. It seemed they were waiting for someone to tell them it was all right. I wondered if a master of ceremonies, perhaps the previously coronated Homecoming King, had to set the festivities in motion. Finally, however, one particular song drew a unified shriek from a large portion of the female population and a few ecstatic male companions.

"'N Sync's new single," Cassie sighed. "Don't ask me how I know that."

The other Animorphs went to dance. I still did not feel comfortable and asked Cassie to go on without me. I sat on the bleachers. Some human females, standing about 30 feet away, continuously glanced at me. When I acknowledged them with a nod, they giggled and turned away. I sighed, impatient with underdeveloped human mating rituals, longing for something simpler and more direct.

The Animorphs checked on me at various intervals. Cassie sat with me for a while, engaging in glib yet meaningless "small talk," and Tobias retrieved some punch and cookies for me. I ate them quickly, but they did little to satisfy my strange feelings of restlessness and emptiness.

Before long, the music shifted in tone, as did the manner of dance. Cassie came back to retrieve me.

"Do you need to morph?" She whispered. I shook my head. "Then dance with me." It should have been a request, but like the initial invitation, it felt more like an order. I followed her obediently.

Once we were on the dance floor, she touched my hands, directing them to her hips, and settled her arms around my shoulders.

We swayed for a few moments in peace. The music was too loud for conversation, the lights too dim to see. For a few moments, I was content, locked again in solipsistic introspection.

Then something terrible happened quite by accident.

Cassie wound her finger in the bottom-most curl of my hair, the one that emerged just above the nape of my neck.

The smell of her hair, the distant droning of insects and chirping of birds, the warm, dry air and electric, uncertain desire prickling through my chest all rushed back to me as surely as if it had happened moments ago.

"That is my favorite part of you," she had whispered in my ear, lips grappling the lobe. Her finger twisted in the curl, giving a sudden and painful little tug, and I felt a shiver run through me, echoes of arousal. The prickles deepened, swelled. She leaned forward, smiling deviously, pressing a warm breast to my cheek, reaching over the couch behind me. She pulled up a brown bottle, sat back, and dipped it beneath her shirt, unwinding the cap with a hiss. She pressed the lip of the bottle to my mouth, but I refused, staring lazily up at her wonderful curves from my excellent vantage point.

It had been a long, wonderful day. We had spent most of the morning and part of the afternoon at the beach, filled with the single sun's radiation that made us lazy and warm. She'd lost my kite, but there would be more kites. There was only one of her.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know," she admitted, leaning back and raising the bottle to her lips. I watched as her jugular dipped up and down with each swallow, as the shirt puckered from her abdomen, casting tantalizing shadows on her bare, sunkissed thighs. She pulled the bottle away and belched, releasing a bitter smell into the air. "Something about the way it hides the value beneath. It is the edge of your protection, but it cannot sufficiently conceal everything. I can peek beneath it. Like covering a trap door with a rug."

I narrowed my eyes at her, feeling an involuntary grin emerge in my face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"It doesn't matter. What's your favorite part of me?"

She was straddled on top of me, seated warm and relaxed, providing a heavy comfort that bordered on unpleasant. After one more swig, she began to lean forward, sliding her arms behind me. I rested my hand on the naked side of her sun-warmed hip, fingering the band of her underwear.

"I can't decide."

"Yes you can."

"I like those," I said, moving a hand up to her chest. She rolled her eyes and took another swig from the bottle.

"I know, but that's not the answer."

I breathed deeply, taking the bottle from her hand and placing it carefully on the uneven ground. I moved my hands up to her waist and lifted her gently, sliding her next to me, pushing her into the back cushion with just a sliver too much force. Her eyes were alert, uncertain. She gave a soft whimper. I pressed one hand to her face, leaned in, and kissed her. She sighed into my mouth. I smiled, pleased with myself. It was getting more difficult to arouse her, harder to do things she didn't expect, but I'd succeeded today. My other hand moved down, settling in between her thighs.

"That's better," she said, wrapping her free arm around me.

"No," I clarified. I did not move my hand up, as she expected and desired. I grabbed the inside of her thigh firmly, indicating that was the answer to her question.

Her eyes narrowed in frustration and she pushed me off the futon. I didn't let go of her thigh, and she winced in pain as I pulled her toward the edge.

"You're teasing me," she growled. I couldn't tell if this upset her or pleased her.

"I have answered your question."

"Explicate."

"I did not ask you to do the same for me."

I'd fallen to the ground, but quickly readjusted myself so I was seated, facing her. My legs were stretched under the futon, hand resting between her legs, which were now clamped together hard in punishment. My chin nestled comfortably on the cushion. Our noses almost touched. Her eyes narrowed. I could tell that we had just begun some sort of game, though the rules and objective were unclear. With my free hand, I employed my tactics. I wove my fingers through her hair, I traced her lips with my thumb, I slid my hand into hers. She sat stolid and unblinking, glaring or gazing at me motionlessly. The game lasted nearly 45 minutes, her staring and me squeezing with such slight pressure I forgot that I was even doing it.

"Fine," she finally whispered. "You win."

"What is my reward?"

"I don't know, we can decide after I relieve my bladder," she said as she sat up. I grasped her hand and she turned to me, curious.

"It is my favorite part of you because it is forgotten," I said. "It stays hidden in the dark, like other things, but it is not the prize. It is the discarded material after the gift is unwrapped. Perhaps the most beautiful part, and the least important. It is my favorite because it makes me not want to forget."

She stared at me for a moment in sad surprise. Then she smiled, a genuine, beautiful reaction of complete understanding and acceptance and bent down to kiss my lips.

I looked up. Cassie looked concerned.

"Ax, what's wrong?"

I blinked, and tears tumbled out of my eyes.

I let go of her and wiped my face. It was a sudden reaction, but not an uncontrollable one. I breathed deeply and—

Wept. I wept very loud and hard. Human couples around us turned in concern. Cassie wrapped her arms around my shoulder and drew me to the bleachers.

I wept for minutes, trying to temper my frantic diaphragm, trying to relieve the grief effectively without drawing attention to myself. How childish, how self-indulgent I must have looked. Cassie held her arms around me tightly, and did not respond to my mild attempts to free myself. Finally I surrendered, shielding my eyes with the heels of my hands, and I cried into her. She whispered a soft, pleasing sound in my ear and stroked my hair. It was a juvenile, primitive form of comfort, but its application was effective.

I pulled away and looked up at her. Her eyes were soft and comforting.

"It's okay to be hurt, Ax."

I shook my head. "It has been so long," I lamented. "How can it still cause so much pain?"

"I guess there are some wounds you can't just morph away."

I swallowed back thick phlegm and composed myself. "She is scum," I said.

"No she's not."

"You do not understand."

She pried my chin up with her knuckle. "Try me."

I looked down. "There are some Andalites, Cassie, some that are so deeply evil that we do not even admit to their existence," I began. "I break the law just by informing you."

"If Andalite thought-police ever came down to Earth, I think we would be the first to know. Try me, Ax."

"She is an Hermilian." The word flicked through my human tongue like a snake tasting the air.

"What does that mean?"

"They are a race gifted with extraordinary telepathic abilities. They can project their thoughts on to you, and can read primary thoughts and most feelings from a distance. They manipulate your motives, temper your emotions to bend you to their will. They are a race of puppet masters."

"Did she do that to you?"

"Throughout history they have almost destroyed the Andalite culture on more than one occasion, and have done so even more effectively than the current threat of the Yeerks. It is blind slavery. They do not even afford their victims the option of resistance. It's what you humans call brainwashing."

"Okay, but did she do that to you?"

"I do not know."

Cassie continued to pat my shoulder. "I don't want to offend you, Ax, but you Andalites are kind of a prejudiced bunch."

"I know you perceive me that way, but—"

"Please listen," she said. "It's not always a bad thing to be prejudiced. It certainly saves time, having a set of expectations going into a new situation. We couldn't walk into every introduction completely blind or we'd be defenseless, right?"

I nodded, content with her logic so far.

"But you already knew her when you found out," she said. "It should fall away like a banana peel once you know someone. It's only there as a rudimentary, flimsy, breachable defense. Prejudice wasn't about protection in that case, it was an excuse to judge her. You knew her, accepted her, even loved her, right? You trusted her."

"Yes, I did."

"So just because she's a Hermilian, that changes everything?"

I shook my head. "It would be as if you found out Prince Jake was a member of that race that committed genocide during your second World War. Could you forgive him for that?"

"Maybe. But that's not even the same, because he would have the choice. I mean, he would have been pressured, but at some point he would've had to say, 'Yes, I want to be a Nazi.' Did she ever have the opportunity to refuse being a Hermilian?"

I hiccuped, wiped my nose, and shook my head.

"So you're condemning her for something she had absolutely no control over."

"No," I said. "She used her talents. She admitted as much. She was not ashamed of them."

"You said I'm a naturally gifted morpher, right? What's the word?"

"_Estreen_."

"Right. Estreen. Should I artificially slow down when I morph, stop using my ability, just because other people don't have it?"

I sighed.

"It's saved my life, Ax. It's done me lots of good. I can't give it back, and I don't want to. What if your people decide, at some point in the future, that people who can morph too fast are dangerous? What would happen to me? And would you agree with them?"

I looked up at her. "You don't understand," I pleaded.

"Ax, take a step back from the Andalites for a second. I know it's hard. But try to look at it objectively, as if you got lost on the way back to some unrelated home planet. Look at them as an alien would. You stumble on this magnificent, advanced, beautiful race who has cured thousands of diseases, traveled to the stars, invented technology that allows them to change their form. Wouldn't you be a little surprised and unsettled to find out that they're still scared of most things that are different, even though it's all something they can now become?"

"This discussion is moot," I said. "She still left me."

"Yeah, and that sucks. But it's no reason to hate her."

I was quiet for a long time. "I don't hate her," I finally muttered, feeling the hot presence of tears move up my cheeks once again. "She has hurt me worse than almost anything, but I don't hate her for it. She's not scum. I miss her. I can't imagine what they've done to her, and what they want with me."

Once the truth was relinquished, I felt even worse. I'd spent so long trying to hate her, and why? Just to make the pain from losing her easier to bear? I did love her, yes, but I knew a part of me could never forgive her. I did not know how to reconcile this, and it clawed inside of me as the tears continued to flow.

Cassie continued to sit with me as my face melted like butter, and resolidified, covered in a crusty residue of expelled grief. Tobias noticed us and joined us with Rachel. Soon after, Prince Jake and Marco.


	87. Chapter Thirty Two: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

"Tobias said there was an Andalite Controller in your meadow. Looking for you," Prince Jake said.

"This environment—"

"We're good." Prince Jake glanced at Erek the Chee, standing about three feet away, as a titanium-and-ivory skeleton. He waved. I looked up to see the shimmery, frosted protection of a hologram.

"Do you know why he was there?" He asked. He glanced at Cassie.

"They want everything to suffer," I said. "Me, her. You. If they knew about you, you'd know pain like never before. Everything we do in this life, everything we construct is merely fodder for their sadistic attrition. We are defenseless."

"No, we're not," Cassie said. "We have something powerful and slippery and so, so important."

"Oh God," Marco sighed. "Are you about to make a hope speech?"

"No." Cassie looked at me. "You've been a ghost, Ax. You still do your job, and thank God you do, but you haven't been here for months. Your heart's not in it anymore, and now I'm sure I know why. She took it away, and you need to go get it back."

I was aware that my face was red and bloated, honest. I looked up at each Animorph individually, and for once, they appeared cohesive. Each shared a look of grim determinism, combined with regret and sadness.

"I cannot leave you," I said. "My mission is here."

"Up until a new Andalite Controller entered your meadow, I agree with you," Prince Jake said. "But it sounds like this is a threat that deserves some direct attention. It also sounds like it has a lot to do with you."

"Then we shall all go," I said.

"I don't know about that," said Erek. "I haven't heard much, but what I have heard indicates that it has little to do with Earth. They're orbiting Saturn for now, but that doesn't mean they plan on sticking around."

"We can't leave home, Ax. Our fight is here. But your fight never really was." Tobias spoke softly, but his words were the most important of all.

"I fight for you," I said. "For humanity. For the right of your species to freedom."

"That's all well and good, but fighting for something a little more personal isn't dishonorable. If they'd taken Tobias away, you'd better believe I wouldn't let something like Earth's gravity keep me from getting him back," Rachel said.

The tears were gone, but I felt nausea rise up in me. "I believe I need some fresh air."

We reconvened outside. The dance was over for us. Human authority figures have a strange fear of letting children back inside of things once they have left.

"I really thought the Yeerks weren't going to ruin tonight," Marco sighed. He fell to his knees and shook his fists at the sky. "Is nothing sacred?"

"You're just upset because you blew it with Cynthia."

"Blondes are supposed to have a sense of humor about being blonde. Those two do!"

"We laugh at good jokes, Marco," Rachel said.

I sat on a cement curb stop and tried to temper my breath. I was hyperventilating. The air that was normally so thick and difficult to inhale now came too easily.

"You're pale as a sheet," Cassie said, sitting next to me. "This is a lot to deal with."

"What am I supposed to do?" I gasped.

"You think you've got it rough?" Marco asked. "You already did the hard part. Getting someone back is a lot easier than getting someone the first time."

"This is not how a warrior behaves. A warrior leaves his personal desires out of his decisions. A warrior performs the duties to which he is assigned."

"So you want me to officially reassign you?" Prince Jake asked.

"Ax, you're wrong. There's only one question that matters here," Cassie said.

"And what is that?"

"Do you love her?"

I stared at her for too long, not because I was unsure, but because I was surprised at how suddenly and ferociously my chest exploded in heat.

"Yes."

"Then go get her back."

It took far too short to prepare. There wasn't much to do. We had to wait a few days for the Yeerks to slacken security around their parked Bug Fighters again, but we'd installed two Hork-Bajir agents in the Yeerk pool, using Jennor's abandoned holographic emitters, and they alerted us once it was safe.

In fact, Bark, Toby's most trusted lieutenant, had been the one to transmit the coordinates of the prison cell of the captive Hork-Bajir we'd rescued. He'd also procured a ship and clear route for us to take to the Pool Ship. Toby had confided to Tobias that Bark, who was more on the laconic side, could very possibly be another genetic anomaly like herself. I wasn't sure about that, but he seemed adept enough at following her orders and planning ahead two or three stages, unlike most Hork-Bajir. In a strange way, I had come to trust him, and I knew that with his help, I would certainly be able to escape the confines and protection of Earth.  
**  
**It was very difficult to let go.

(You'll come back,) Tobias said, perched on a branch in a small, comfortable grove of pine trees that I'd claimed as a temporary home. I stared at my final Earth sunset. (Whenever I get feelings like this, they tend to be right.)

(What makes you so sure?)

(I don't know. I just am.)

I would need to perform the evening ritual soon. I hoped Tobias would do it with me.

(In case I do not,) I said, (I wish to maintain contact with you and the rest of the Animorphs. But especially you, Tobias.)

(Because I'm your _shorm_, right?)

(Precisely.)

We'd tried to revisit her medical kit as seldom as possible. I'd revisited it one last time that day.

(I want you to have this,) I said, handing him the Z-Space communicator. (I will contact you as soon as I reach a secure location. I considered giving it to Prince Jake, but I thought it better to give to you.)

Tobias gazed at it for a moment, in a soft way for his intense hawk face.

(I didn't even know that was there,) he laughed. (You don't think she'll mind?)

(I wouldn't care if she did.)

Tobias paused for a moment and gently lifted the device in his talon. (You really think you're leaving for good, don't you?)

(It is what I must prepare for.)

(Nah. You'll be back. Mark my words.)

I glanced back at the sky. (From the rising of the sun to the setting, to its rising again,) I began.

(We place what is hard to endure with what is sweet to remember,) Tobias continued.

(And we find peace.) We said together.

(I shall miss you, Tobias,) I said, a feeling of raw regret and weakness welling up in my throat.

(You too, Ax-man.)

The mission to steal another Bug Fighter took place later that night.

Cassie morphed to Yeerk, and I allowed her to infest me in order to dupe the the Gleet Biofilters. Months ago, I never would have permitted such an invasion of my privacy. I suppose my pride had taken a few tumbles in the recent past.

(Oops, sorry,) she said as she jerked my knee forward. The backpack I wore shifted and I readjusted it. (If I just stop thinking, then I let go, but I'm nervous about this.)

(As am I,) I said, gripping the handrail of the staircase a little more tightly.

(Where are we?) Prince Jake asked.

(We just passed the threshold into the Yeerk Pool,) Cassie informed them, using my voice. (Where are we meeting Bark once we get down here?)

(By the bar.)

(The first opportunity to go to a bar since we've gained the ability to fake our age and I'm a flea,) Marco sighed. (Can we please go to the liquor store after this and buy some beer? I just want to see what it tastes like!)

(Cassie, tell Marco that Jennor hid some in the creek straight north from the previous location of my scoop. He may have what she left.) Cassie relayed the message, and Marco mumbled a (Thanks, Ax,) privately back.

We rendezvoused with Bark, who nodded and walked us back to the storage facility. He handed me a security clearance badge and scanned his as we passed the guarded entrance. The Taxxon Controllers hand-scanned my brain to ensure I was infested, checked my badge, and permitted me entrance.

The ship's hangar was vast and cave-like. Debris and dirt had been swept into the dark corners of the cavern, but the place was far from polished. Eight Bug Fighters faced each other in two rows. "Farthest ships fueled most recently," Bark said. He raised his claw and pointed toward one at the end of the row. "That one open."

(Tell him to stay out of the way once Ax departs,) Prince Jake said.

(Oh, we're doing something stupid, aren't we?)

(Stupid is as stupid does, Marco.)

We entered the Bug Fighter. Once the Animorphs began to demorph and grow, I picked them out of my hair and placed them on the ground. Cassie raised my hands to her ear and caught herself gently as she tumbled out. I placed her on the ground and demorphed. I stowed the backpack safely beneath the control panel.

Soon, the Animorphs all stood in front of me within their morphing clothes, Tobias as a hawk. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation, but none of us seemed to be able to move.

"I guess this is it," Prince Jake said. "Good luck, Ax. Guess you'll have a new Prince, or be one, next time I see you."

(I do not repeat mistakes,) I said. (You shall always be my Prince.)

Marco scoffed. "Let's not get sentimental; you know how I hate that."

"Kind of like how I hate your attitude in general?" Rachel said.

"Oh, God, you've even got Rachel crying?"

Tobias nuzzled her hand as she hastily wiped her face. "I don't cry. I just commemorate." She smiled at me. "Kick their asses, Ax."

Cassie moved beside me and wrapped her arm around my back. "I'm with Tobias," she said. "You haven't seen the last of us yet. And somehow, I get the feeling all of this is better than what could have happened." She looked away for a moment, shaking her head a little. "Yeah. I don't have a problem with this."

(With every breath in me, I will convince the Andalite forces to center on Earth,) I promised. (With every bone in my body, every shred of influence I have. There is only one important mission in this war, and it will no longer be ignored.)

"Then I guess we shouldn't even bother with goodbyes," Prince Jake said. "You mind giving us a grand entrance, Ax-man?"

(Of course.)

He smiled. "Then good luck."

Cassie and Rachel wrapped me embraces for a moment. I lifted Tobias in my weak arms and he pressed his beak against my forehead. Prince Jake touched my shoulder, like Elfangor used to do. Marco shook my hand and nudged me in the shoulder.

"Can't help but get the feeling we missed out on something," he said to me. "I guess we'll never know."

Once the Animorphs finally departed, I allowed myself a few moments of empty grief. I would miss them very much. They had taught me more about their culture and myself than I could have expected. They were the greatest friends I had ever known. Without them, I would not have even been on this ship, I would never have become a warrior, I would have been alone on the bottom of a vast ocean, never even having known truth or love.

I inhaled deeply, my last breath of Earth air, and powered up the engines.

With the reverse Dracon Beams, I blasted a hole in the subtle walls between the Bug Fighter hanger and the Pool. The scanners indicated a herd of large Earth animals entering the cavern.

I engaged the limited psychic controls and hovered over the ground, hearing the hum as the engines warmed up, feeling the vibrations through my hooves that indicated the ship was ready for liftoff.

I spun towards the launching tunnel and rocketed out, allowing myself the thrill of exhilaration as I punched out of Earth's atmosphere.

I remained in Earth's orbit, energy signature dampened, for a few hours as I centered my thoughts, purged my anxiety, prepared to move forward. It was very difficult, looking down at the planet I had known as home for the past three years, wondering if I'd ever see it again. I felt a stroke of regret every time I passed North America on the miniaturized globe below. It is no mistake that things that are very far away appear so small. My home had become an abstract shape outlined by swirling clouds and blue water.

Something snapped me out of me reverie. I swallowed hard. Hunger began to flare in my legs, and a sudden craving for true Andalite grass filled my mind. I had to leave. I had to go get her.

I allowed her out of the cage in my head, allowed her to spread into my forebrain, into my spine, into my arms and legs.

Psychic dreams begging me to retrieve her, to forgive her, to take it all away, to placate the pain, to relieve her misery. Sullied memories which were still good beneath everything. I placed a hand against my opposite cheekbone. Recalled the feeling of the frigid hand against it that was not entirely unpleasant.

_What have they done to you?_

I inhaled deeply and engaged the thrusters, breaking free of Earth's gravity. I passed the moon about 15 minutes later. Mars, hours after that. I was not going as fast as I could. I was scared. I got the terrible feeling I was headed into a trap, but I kept going.

Asteroids. Jupiter, on the far side of its orbit, a speck of reflected light. Then, Saturn.

My scanners began beeping. I had an incoming transmission. I morphed to Taxxon and pressed the receiver.

"Name and cargo?" A Hork-Bajir bridge lieutenant asked.

I adjusted the long Taxxon tongue in my mouth, pressing the translator button on the control panel. "Pirressssssss 423," I said, making up a Yeerk name. "Cargo is classsssssified."

"Ah, yes. The Empress has been expecting you. Dock with the Dome Ship as soon as you can."

_Dome Ship?_

"Yesssssss, sssir." I responded.

I tapped the scanners with my insectoid claws. There was a Pool Ship in orbit, a swarm of Bug Fighters around it. But then, spinning into view on the opposite side of the planet, an Andalite Dome Ship.

I felt my bowels go slack, my legs lost their elasticity and I slumped onto my belly.

Denial spread through me. A truce. An equal match. A pragmatic Captain reaching a temporary agreement with some equally rational Yeerk Visser. Nothing more than a truce.

Then why was the Empress expecting me?

_The Empress?_

Another incoming transmission. My claw hovered above the receiver for a moment, and I considered breaking my course and turning around to go back to Earth, but then I engaged.

An Andalite face greeted me.

(We receieved a message from the Pool Ship. You have the cargo. Our docking bay is full right now, so you'll have to wait a few hours for clearance.)

I blinked back.

(Do you understand?)

"Yesss," I lied.

(Very well. We'll contact you when space becomes available.)

I demorphed and shook my head. Visser Three was terrifying because he had managed the impossible feat of procuring an Andalite host. The brown-eyed man was unsettling because he had duplicated the same feat.

I could not even fathom an entire Dome Ship under Yeerk control. It was fear too deep to acknowledge.

It took hours before something happened. Impatience and restlessness gnawed at me, tension that could not be dispelled in this tiny, claustrophobic ship. They should have contacted me again by now. It was long enough for me to wrap my brain around the current situation. This was not a mission I could complete alone. I needed support. I needed the Animorphs. How could I break aboard a Yeerk-controlled Dome Ship and mount any sort of successful resistance?

I kept a distracted stalk eye on the Dome Ship, running plans upon plans through my head. My stalk eye registered a subtle change in lighting. I ignored it at first, trying to find flaw in a plan to fire through the Dome with my Dracon Beams and suffocate everyone on board. It was a terrible cost, but better than infestation. Better than defeat.

My second stalk eye followed the first.

The Dome Ship was completely dark. All windows, the red and yellow running lights around the perimeter of the Dome, the engines themselves dead. Stabilizers malfunctioned and the ship began rotating on its head in orbit.

I didn't know what had happened, but I decided it was time to dock.

The docking bay was full, so I used the emergency docking port in the middle of the ship. The shields were inexplicably down. I cut my engines and opened the hatch.

My timing could not have been more perfect.


	88. Chapter Thirty Three: The Empress

Chapter Thirty-Three

The Empress

PART ONE OF FOUR

She stared at it for a while in silent horror, like the scream she needed to muster was too great for her rigid, weak little frame. Then some noise emerged from her, a strange growling or rumbling from deep within, like an idling engine. It was disconcerting, inhuman. It wouldn't break into sobs, it didn't cripple into anything natural, it just kept growing, accelerating, approaching critical mass. I glanced at Nagrit. He'd gone pale.

She threw herself into the bulkhead and finally wailed, still growling, breathing through a closed esophagus, wheezing, hacking. Her body quivered with more grief than it could support. It was as if she was about to burst open in a nuclear display of light and energy, as if I had unzipped her from the binds of our universe, as if the laws of physics no longer applied.

So this was it. I had done it.

I forced myself to watch for a while, forced myself to stare at the unadulterated, unashamed, unraveling display of grief before me. Nausea snowballed and spread like radiation within me. I felt deep heartburn reemerge. I'd been taking more frequent doses of the medicine, and it was having less of an effect. Stars burst across my vision and a wave of exhaustion and disorientation swept over me.

(I need to get out of here,) I whispered to Nagrit as the pain surged high into my chest. I glanced at him, indicating that he should follow, but he was focused, penitent, still staring, stiff with guilt.

(All right,) he responded. I exited the cell without him, unable to cope with it anymore. My hands were shaking. He followed, minutes longer than it usually took him.

I clutched the shifting, almost translucent bulkhead as he stood across the hallway, staring off vacantly at nothing. The holographic sky continued to move, giving me terrible vertigo. If I'd had a mouth, I'd have vomited, the feeling was so strange and intense in my Andalite body, and I could think of no way to release it. I rubbed my sternum and felt a prickly assault of cold sweat from fear and sickness. I didn't know what was wrong with me.

(Terliss,) he whispered, finally turning a stalk eye to me. (I can't...)

(It's fine, Nagrit. Do whatever you need to do,) I said to him. He bowed his stalk eye.

(Will you be all right?)

(I can take care of myself.)

Something was very wrong with me, and it wasn't getting better. I headed slowly toward sick bay, as composed as I could appear, trembling and weak-kneed, as Nagrit headed in the opposite direction to keep his mind off Jennor.

The doctor wasn't in when I got there. Good. I had a terrible feeling about her, a sudden, terrible paranoia about everything.

I groped aimlessly around her equipment for a while before I finally saw something I recognized. I grabbed the medical scanner she'd used to diagnose me. Or not diagnose me. I didn't know how to use it; I was still a foreigner to most Andalite technology. I could only hope it was as simple to operate as an Escafil Device or Shredder.

I turned it on. Turned it towards me. Stabbed buttons until it responded.

(Scan complete,) it said. (Readout available.)

I turned it around. Things were not in order. Recommendations were listed before the diagnosis. "Increase protein in diet. Include prenatal vitamins in morning supplement. Up to two daytime naps and copper supplements recommended to combat fatigue caused by anemia."

My mind was reeling, the terrible, grating noise she'd made still ringing in my ears, heartburn flaring up inside of me like I was made of dry wood, tangled snake splashing, twisting, and screaming right along with everything else.

I scrolled down without acknowledging what I had read. "Conception occurred four months, two weeks, five days prior. Fetal heart rate: normal. Fetal development: normal. Fetal stress level: heightened. Recommend _trilaxia _root for relaxation."

I felt my shins and shoulders explode in needles, in cold sweat, in burrs exploding through each of my pores.

_He sabotaged the contraceptives_, I thought. (That son of a bitch, I'll kill him!)

(I see your suspicion has finally overcome your denial,) a familiar voice hummed in my mind. I turned an enraged stalk eye toward her. The physician was standing relaxed, arms crossed, outlined by the frame of the door.

(You knew,) I accused.

(I did not lie, sir. You are perfectly healthy.)

(Don't you care about anything? Are you so thick that you couldn't imagine what kind of torture such treachery would breed?)

Her face softened into distant amusement. (You really shouldn't exert yourself so much.)

(Exert myself?!) I cried. (My exertion hasn't even begun. I'll strip him of everything for doing this to me, and I'll make you watch so your host gains the strength to overcome you, and when you come out to feed I'll stick you with toothpicks and light them on fire, and—)

I began to sink to the ground. Pastel stars impaired my vision, it felt like a sudden scoop had been taken out of my brain. The room began to spin, shifting in and out of focus.

She hoofed over quietly, picking up the scanner and passing it over my body. I pressed my hand to a suddenly throbbing temple.

(I told you not to exert yourself.)

(How could I get so greedy?) I asked myself. (How could I trust a free Andalite with something so delicate, so destructive?)

(Oh, trusting Noorlin was the right decision, sir. I would have done this far sooner.)

She walked over to the cabinets and pulled out a clear box of some dirty plants that looked like potatoes. She grabbed one, returned, and pressed it to my front hoof.

(This will help you relax. It's good for the infant.)

(I can't do this,) I sighed. It was beyond foolish to appear so vulnerable to an untrusted Sub-Visser. She touched my shoulder tenderly.

(You should enjoy this part while it lasts. You're near the beginning of your third septmester, which you should know is universally uncomfortable. But then you get two months of relative quiet: the fourth septmester, the middle of your pregnancy, the quiet before the true storm. Starting in the fifth, you will become intimate friends with each of your lower ribs as tail blades and hooves start finding themselves lodged in between. Beyond that, it is a daily game of how heavy you can get before your legs give out and snap, leaving you a fat, bleeding leech on resources. Five through seven. The worst six months of your life.)

I gazed up at her. For some reason, her summary comforted me, and for some reason, she seemed a figure worthy of trust.

(What do I do?) I asked her.

(For now, you get up and rule your little stolen ship and your ambitious empire,) she said. (Later, you think about what you want to do.)

(It is preposterous to even consider—)

(Not what you should do, sir. What you want to do.)

She watched me for too long, too intuitively aware of the fact that terrified as I was, I was not totally averse. Terrified as I was, I felt something unlikely, unforgivable, and undeniable. I felt affection for it.

(You should probably inform the father,) she said, speaking with a condescending staccato. (Though his opinion is ultimately meaningless, it may help you form your own.)

(Why are you helping me?)

(I'm a doctor,) she said brightly. (It's my job.)

She helped me to my hooves, promising that she would treat me as any Andalite patient, that she had ample expertise in Andalite obstetrics, that no harm would come to my child. I left the medical bay, breathing more deeply. The root had a quick effect. I covered my nostrils with my hand, tried to assert self-control so I didn't appear so obviously depleted. I looked for him haphazardly, distracted. I couldn't go back in the brig. I couldn't imagine he would still be there anyway. I decided to wait in my quarters. He always ended up back there eventually.

I stared out at Saturn for a long time, waiting for him to come back. I didn't know how I had let it happen. A free Andalite providing contraceptives to his captor, how stupid could I be? Maybe not stupid at all. Maybe I'd gone to Noorlin because this was precisely what I had wanted.

Despite the fact that I'd made mating and procreation an acceptable part of Yeerk society, I would be punished. The Council would have me demoted at the very least. It would be a difficult motion to be carried out, now that my face was public knowledge. With a coy suggestion from Sessil or Seert, they might do something simpler and more direct. They could have me executed for indulging such intimate needs of my host. The sex itself was not against the law, but if they discovered Nagrit was the father, that would be more than enough cause. Yes, they'd probably kill me. Love was a crime worthy of execution in the Yeerk Empire.

_We could steal a portable Kandrona. We could go anywhere, even back to Andal. Our forms are not notorious to them. Leave the Empire behind, strike up a family. Our forms aren't ours, but our love is._

How long before it became glaringly obvious? I only knew human pregnancies. They could push until the end with enough concealment, but I did not have the benefit of dark colors or vertical stripes. How long for an Andalite? How long until everyone knew?

_Make your decision fast, Terliss. You don't have the time to dawdle._

How many of my policies would they keep? Would they wipe the slate clean? I had done good work for the Empire; I'd procured a Dome Ship, advanced our knowledge of Andalite technology and procedure. Would I be such a shame that they'd deny my very existence? Snap back to the flawed, slow, emotional leadership style that had plagued us before?

_An Andalite colt. My child._  
_  
_I opened my eyes. I hadn't even realized I had shut them. Had I fallen asleep? I yawned in my Andalite way and looked down. My hand was massaging my abdomen. The place on a human body where a pregnancy would appear.

(What did you do to me?) Terenia asked.

(You're alive,) I breathed in relief.

(You knocked me up?)

(Yes.)

(How could you do that?)

(You're not mad,) I pointed out.

(I...no, I guess I'm not.)

(What happened to you?) I asked.

(I can't believe you knocked me up,) she repeated, amazed.

(I may want to keep it, Terenia.)

(You're not keeping it.)

(I'd like your help and permission, but—)

(You're not keeping it!)

(I'm sorry, Terenia. I'm sorry it had to be you.)

She paused for a moment and sighed. We'd known each other too long for her just to contradict me for the sake of autonomy. (I don't want you to kill it,) she sighed. (I got caught in the crossfire. Not fair that he should too.)

(He?)

(Oh, I don't know, I don't have a psychic connection to it or anything. Didn't you check?)

(What happened to you, Terenia?)

(You took everything from me. I had nothing left, Terliss.)

(And now?)

(I guess you gave something back.)

I continued to massage my abdomen, still waiting for Nagrit to return.

(Are you going to infest him?) She asked.

(What?)

(Once he's born, are you going to infest him?)

(No, we'll be too far from the Empire to do anything like that,) I said.

(So he would be free.)

(Yes, I suppose he would have to be.)

(Don't kill him,) she said. (Don't get rid of him. Let this one part of me be free, okay?)

I sighed. Unexpectedly perfect to get what I wanted and appease Terenia at the same time. For so long I had imprisoned her, earned her hate. It made no sense that we should agree about this, but I didn't question it. Sometimes, things were just perfect, and the only option you had was to let them be. I smiled, imagining Nagrit grasping my hand on Andal, our own scoop with a hidden Kandrona emitter that our friends and neighbors would never suspect, a small Andalite boy running through the same hills Terenia had known, gazing back at his proud and happy Andalite parents.

(Do you want him?) I asked her.

(I don't not want him.)

(I never meant for this to happen, Terenia, but now that it has, I—)

I heard the doors to my quarters open. Turned a stalk eye to acknowledge the entrant.

The girl stood before me in her Andalite form, absolutely furious.

I should have been surprised, I suppose. I didn't know how much more surprise I could take in one day, so I reacted like it was nothing extraordinary. For some reason, it not only seemed plausible, but entirely mundane.

She stepped forward and pulled something from behind her back. Dropped it to the ground. It was covered in a bloody sheet.

(There,) she said. (Now you feel it, too.)

What was that supposed to mean?


	89. Chapter Thirty Three: Part Two

PART TWO OF FOUR

A flare of heartburn, the snake growled. Her stalk eye swiveled around to something coming down the hallway. I heard a Hork-Bajir scream from outside of the door. She glared at me deeply, turned around, and scattered.

My eyes traveled slowly to what she had unloaded.

It was rocking back and forth. A stalk eye spilled from the bloody folds of the sheet.

It was like I was made of shingles or scales, and they all snapped into place. I couldn't move. Couldn't narrow my wide eyes, couldn't uncoil my fists, couldn't relax my tail or pull my stalk eyes away from the head she'd deposited. I wasn't breathing, my heart had stopped. I'd turned to ice.

This was all a dream. An effect of that root the doctor had given me. She was still trying to supplant or corrupt me in some way, that root was a hallucinogen, all of this was just a terrible vision produced by some kind of natural Andalite drug. How long until it wore off? I didn't want Nagrit to see me like this, I hoped he would come by later rather than sooner. But I still had news to tell him, and I wanted to get that out of the way, but at the same time...

Was that stalk eye brown?

I broke out of my ice shell and slowly inched over. My insides had turned to velvet, some too-soft material that made me cringe as I moved. Nausea rose within me again, but there was an additional flavor to it this time, not just derived from the shifting discomfort of compensating organs, but a stiffer kind of nausea, a surer, sicker nausea spawned from grand revelation or horrible, potent dread.

I approached at an angle that kept me from seeing the stalk eye up close. Blood still oozed from the sheet. I couldn't bend down to touch it. I couldn't even begin to fathom the truth.

I'd wait for him to come back. When Nagrit got here, we could deal with this newest catastrophe.

(That's him, Terliss,) Terenia whimpered. (Oh God, that's him.)

(No.)

(Pull back the sheet and see.)

(No!)

(Fine, don't. Give Jennor more time to get organized. Stand here in denial while she kills everyone else on board.)

I approached it slowly. My hands were shaking, the nausea was everywhere, in my fingers, in my stalk eyes, in my tail blade.

I pulled back the sheet. Nagrit's dead face stared back.

Terenia made a sound of disgust. I didn't. I couldn't. I could barely comprehend it. It was an image from a nightmare. That's all this was. Terenia was under the influence of the drug, too. We were simply sharing a mutual hallucination.

I was touching it. It was still warm. I spread my hands over his cheeks, pulled it close. Parts of it still looked alive.

(Stop it, Terliss,) Terenia begged. She was sobbing. (Just get rid of it. His wife, oh God, his kids...)

(Nagrit,) I spoke to the face. (Where are you? Why are you here like this? Go get your body, what are you doing?)

(Empress, your presence is requested on the Bridge immediately. Respond, Empress,) came over the speakers.

It was all still surreal, still ephemeral and redeemable, still some sick drug-induced physical manifestation of my paranoia. I'd punish that doctor for mistreating me like this, for taking advantage of my trust, for—

My fingertips passed over his ear. Emerging from the center of it was two inches of gray, dead Yeerk.

That made it real.

I collapsed to the ground. The contents of my stomach expelled through my hooves. I felt a shiver of cold shock run over my forehead and down my shoulders, like getting doused in liquid nitrogen. I panicked, I convulsed. I could have fainted, but I didn't, I cradled his head in the pits of my elbows, and I sobbed. I pressed his forehead up against mine and cried to him.

(Everything was about to change,) I told him, (everything was going to get better, we were going to leave this war and have a family and forget about the Andalites and Jennor. I'm pregnant, Nagrit, and I knew you'd be upset at first but just hear me out, this is no emergency, it's no disaster, it's the best thing that's ever happened to us, because even though I was ambitious at one point I'm not anymore, I don't care about any of it anymore, power and fame haven't given me satisfaction but you have, oh Nagrit, you've given me more satisfaction and happiness than I ever could have thought to deserve. You're so perfect, you're so good, and you're mine, and you really love me, it's not contaminated by ambition or manipulation, I didn't believe it at first and part of me never did but now I do, I believe it, and you would have been angry and afraid but you would have said yes, this sabotage would have made you averse but you would have accepted it, and even liked the idea, wouldn't you? We could have raised it together, two repentant Yeerks just could have been mom and dad to some anonymous little child. We could have even had more, on purpose, we could have had a family, we could have been happy forever.)

My ramblings turned to mumblings, which turned to unintelligible cries. I felt helpless, dying, razed. I knew I would never recover from this. When had he changed from a petty, favorable distraction to structural support? When had he become something absolutely essential instead of just a guilty pleasure?

(Empress to the Bridge!)

What would I do now?

I lay on the ground for a long time, staring at his eyes that grew deader every minute, his flesh which grew colder, his skin which grew stiffer. It took me so long to get over the fact of his severed head so I could loop back around to the cause, so I could pinpoint the blight that I needed to boil and sterilize, so I could remember what did this.

_Now you feel it, too_.

All is fair in love and war, I remembered from an old human saying. Jennor had broken no rule, because I had brought our conflict somewhere it should never have gone. Necessary as it was, I should have left the boy alone. A part of me knew I myself had caused this.

But she had done it. And my retribution would be just as vicious as hers.

I drew myself to my hooves, composed myself, and headed out of my quarters.

Things were chaotic.

"There you are!" a Hork-Bajir yelled. "We've had a series of sudden small-scale mutinies, but we've managed to subdue most of them. Something's happening, sir, something terrible."

(Very well,) I said. (Please go alert my assistant, and—)

I stopped myself. The Hork-Bajir had turned to obey the order, but stopped.

"Where is he?"

I was so close to erupting that I knew if I made eye contact, I would cry. (In my quarters,) I said. (Clean up the mess.)

"Sir?"

(Who reports directly to him?) I asked. (Is Ressick 341 still his top deputy?)

"Yes," the Hork-Bajir responded. "He's on the bridge, but be careful, because some Andalite forces seem to have concentrated there."

(Andalite forces? Mutinies?) I asked. I shook my head, breathed deeply, took a moment to accept the situation. (Where are my combat lieutenants? We have to organize a retaliatory force. Alert the Pool Ship, rouse any sleeping reserves, identify the loyal hosts and segregate them from the others. It may be difficult. They're free, correct? We'll need some way to confirm they're infested,) I said.

"Sir, I'm stationed here, I can't—"

(Continue your task! I'll take care of it!)

I made my way to the Bridge. Along the way, a middle-aged, non-military Andalite male confronted me. I was about to give him orders to go back to the bridge, but he smiled, threw his tail over his head with all the force he could, as obvious and terrifying as a lightning strike. I dodged, throwing myself from my hooves to the ground, but he was quick, already charging another strike. Two Hork-Bajir ran up to me, tackled him, and after a short but intense tussle, snapped his neck.

I climbed shakily to my hooves. (Stay with me,) I told them. (I have to get to the Bridge.)

"They're in the process of taking it, sir. We've diverted all troops there."

(How many are there?)

"We've identified nineteen, sir, killed eight, but the rest haven't emerged yet."

(How do you know there's more?)

"They keep attacking."

(They'll get desperate when their reserves are mostly depleted. For now, let's assume we're at least evenly matched. Better to be overprepared.)

We stopped in the middle of the hallway. (Securing the Bridge is the highest priority. You,) I said to the second Hork-Bajir. (Find every spare troop you can and retake the Bridge.)

"There's another problem, sir."

(What?)

"Some of the Hork-Bajir are fighting us, too."

I breathed deeply, rubbing my hands together. They were still sticky with his drying, cold blood.

(Get everyone you can, we have to risk it. We need the Bridge. If we have the Bridge, we have control of the ship's controls and communications. We need to request assistance from the Pool Ship and Visser Three. Is there any indication that the Andalites are organizing anywhere besides the Bridge? Does it appear they have a solid plan? Or are these skirmishes uncoordinated?)

Something compelled me to glance behind. The girl stood facing away, glaring back with a stalk eye. She had a few cuts on her flanks, one across her back. Already hurt. A little thing not half the weight of what a warrior should be. She made eye contact with me. Rage boiled up from deep within, and I almost tore after her, despite the bloodshed and cries of anguish erupting from all around.

I breathed deeply. I'd need support. A level head. I needed to be a leader now, not an avenger. (She's behind this,) I said. (I want her dead.)

I began stalking after her. She ducked into a prince's quarters and locked the door from within.

(Open it,) I told the Hork-Bajir.

(This is a priority-three room. We'll have to get someone from the Bridge to—)

(Jennor, open this door,) I seethed quietly. I was boiling inside, like a horseshoe cooled in a bucket of water, but I could not yell. I could not raise my voice, Andalite or not, because if I did, I would lose all track of what was happening. I could not let my anger detach me from reality.

I felt another flare of heartburn. A reminder of Nagrit's death, and yet, the persistence of his life. I started throwing my tail blade at the door.

(Open this door, Jennor!)

I heard the energy lock power down, and allowed four Hork-Bajir to slip in front of me.

The door opened, and five Andalites piled through.

Andalites generally outmatch Hork-Bajir. This is a mourned fact throughout the Empire. A well-trained, reasonably talented Andalite warrior can take on three fully-grown Hork-Bajir and expect to win. But these were not well-trained, reasonably talented Andalite warriors. They were civilians. There was even a female, an older female with tanning fur, a woman who looked matronly, feminine. The Hork-Bajir were nervous, clearly desperate for a self-esteem boost, and descended on her first. It didn't take long. She blocked a couple of blows, but a knee blade caught her in the flank and brought her to the ground. The other stomped her hard on her ribcage once she was prostrate. I heard it crack, a silent cry of regret and anguish. Then he dropped to his knees to slice her throat. Her feeble, weak fingers clutched his catcher's mitt hand and then slid lifeless to the ground. I almost told him not to. She must have been a mother, embarking on a galactic quest to reclaim her lost son.

I could feel the atmosphere shift once she went still. Feel their eyes open wide in shock, in fear, then narrow in vengeful resignation. Three aging males lined themselves up and charged.


	90. Chapter Thirty Three: Part Three

PART THREE OF FOUR

They lasted slightly longer. The biggest one was slow, striking cautiously, and only on his right side. Advanced arthritis of the tail, I assumed. My Hork-Bajir easily blocked him, but he was creative in unexpected ways. He drove a hoof inches into one Hork-Bajir's lower abdomen, shook it around, and yanked it out at a painful angle. The guard howled and collapsed to the floor, moaning and clutching the shallow, crippling wound already oozing blood and chunky gore through his fingers.

The other two Andalites were proficient, and evenly matched against one Hork-Bajir each. They coordinated, revolving around the Hork-Bajir, who were known to have poor peripheral vision. They struck conservatively, playing a defensive game, blocked, screamed, leaped, set their hooves like a playful cat and dodged. One Hork-Bajir lost his balance and tumbled sideways, giving him a new tactical position. He reached out and grabbed the Andalite's ankle, and with a violent tug brought the Andalite to his knees. They dueled at ground level while the other pair growled and taunted and feinted and preened. I stayed back, desperate to liberate the pounding fury in my chest by cutting into something, but too consciously aware that if I failed, if I got hit or killed, the Andalites would win.

I was the focal point. Which meant I was all alone.

And she was, too.

Jennor was the deciding force. Brushing impatiently past her allies who had thought it best to protect her, she moved in quick, serpentine jerks, liquid like quicksilver. Watching her fight caused a prickle of discomfort to run through me. Until I saw her fight, I was reasonably sure that this whole thing was a minor uprising that could be quashed, that might even return a sense of community and purpose to my dejected troops. But watching her, even spattered and smeared with blood, seeing the personification of their hate and repressed dominance finally unleashed, watching how she moved so quickly that I strained to keep up with her dance, I got the very real feeling that I was going to lose.

After only a minute and a half, my Hork-Bajir were a pile of bloody, twitching debris and Jennor was stepping over them, all eyes hauntingly pinned to me. And though she'd won the battle, she did not do so without damage. New wounds, pouring fresh blood, swollen bruises and glistening burns outlined her frame now. She was not immortal, though that's the impression she gave. She emerged from the smell of blood, stepping over blubbering Andalite and Hork-Bajir corpses.

I raised my tail, still gripping my Dracon Beam, flush with fear but still desperate for revenge. I breathed deeply, encouraged the fear to wash out of me, and prepared to make my final stand. I was not stupid, I knew I could not beat her tail-to-tail, but maybe I wouldn't need to. Maybe today, luck would be on my side.

It was.

She advanced quickly, but at a steady pace. I backed up as she began to strike, getting closer but not close enough, moving with that stealthy slither that Andalite warriors had. She struck and I blocked from pure instinct. Pure instinct wouldn't save me for very long. I pointed my gun at her, but it wavered with each backwards step I took, and my hands were shaking, and I didn't want to shoot her, I wanted to feel her blood on my tail. I needed to outrun her, but I wanted to hurt her, and there was no way she would get me to retreat. I glared at her as we moved, unconcerned about my impending death, consumed with rage and hate that kept me from turning and running away like I should have.

(You've made several large mistakes today, Jennor,) I said.

She struck again.

(You think this is vengeance, you think this is justice, but it's worse than anything I've done. You've killed everyone on board.)

She cried out and struck again, and a huge Andalite blocked her.

Her stalk eyes swiveled to intercept him, but her piercing gaze stayed with me as long as it could. I backed into the wall, already out of breath, still shaking from fear and hate. My savior was massive, streaked and battered with swirling, intersecting patterns of bald scars, bulky with muscle, a tail blade the size of child's arm. He was a warrior, he was infested, and he'd recognized me.

In my obsessive concentration on the girl, I hadn't noticed it, but I'd gained troops. More Andalite Controllers and Hork-Bajir made their way towards me, both for my benefit and the added protection a contingent offered. For all they knew, I was the only confirmed Controller on board the vessel. It made me nervous. Though it had saved my life, this entire situation made it clear that there was no way for me to know, for certain, who was uninfested and who was Yeerk. I gripped my Dracon Beam tightly and threatened any new addition to our squadron. I warned them that any sudden, unexpected movement would result in their death. They nodded curtly in understanding and joined the fray, because Jennor had become a similar trustworthy figure for the opposition and had gained her own sizable force.

Fights were growing heated, crowded in the narrow hallway. Privileged Andalites who had probably never even engaged in a friendly spar were now fighting for their lives, Hork-Bajir who'd been warriors for years cackled from the sheer assumed ease of it. It was chaos, no way to root for anyone, no way to know if we were winning or losing. The only thing I knew was that the inexperienced were quickly being weeded out. Crunches, spurts, slices, and always the accompanying chorus of pain and hate and fear. There was always a Hork-Bajir hand on me, keeping me tucked up against the wall, fighting to protect and secure me as the commander. My view was blocked, even more terrifying than having an unobstructed view of the battle, because every so often a limb would go flying and I'd have no idea what caused it.

More Andalites joined Jennor. Hork-Bajir also teamed up with her, loping with exaggerated movements suited to trees, and now I saw what the herald had meant. Hork-Bajir were fighting each other. Ripping out each other's throats, their eyes, blood spurting and hitting the holographic walls of the vessel, dripping green and blue like polluted rain from a cloudless sky.

Jennor's fight with the massive warrior was getting heated. They were equally fast, equally strong, equally matched, despite the comical look of the whole thing. He outweighed her threefold. Sweat lined their muscles, glistened in the naturalistic lighting. She was heaving, tired, but her tail still twitched and clenched like it was made of electricity. He struck, she blocked and sliced him. He lunged, she ducked, but a gaping wound appeared on her flank where his tail had been an invisible blur not a moment ago. They separated. Taunted each other. Her eyes narrowed, she looked furious, but he howled laughter. Finally she cracked a smile and all amusement bled from his eyes.

He charged, despite the fact they were both exhausted, cut and bloody, flung his body weight into her, crashed into the smooth walls of the ship. Their tails were tangled, he grabbed her forearms with his hands, and she headbutted him. He snapped away in shock, and she smashed the side of her tail against his temple, inches from her own face. He crumpled on top of her, crushing her into the wall. She skidded down the bulkhead, struggling weakly against his weight, but she was pinned, tail flailing desperately, front legs grappling and frantic like an insect's, weak arms struggling to push him off. I raised my Dracon Beam to her. Had her brain perfectly in my sights, and my Dracon Beam whined, purred, begging to be used.

(No, Terliss,) Terenia whispered. (Not like this.)

My elbow was locked in place, and it slackened. My finger was tight against the trigger, and it released.

The snake flared and bit me in the gut. I felt actual pain and winced, but Terenia was right.

Not like this.

My millisecond window of opportunity vanished. Some Andalites peeled the unconscious body off of her and pulled her up, scrambling toward the dome to regroup.

The lines were now drawn. The oncoming battle would be the last.

I took my growing band of loyalists and decided to recruit everyone who remained. As we patrolled, I came up with two solutions. The Bridge was still under fire, and if we retook it, I could detach the dome from the ship and destroy it. If not, self-destruct and kill everyone on board.

The ultimate Andalite defense. Destroy what cannot be saved. They had created us in their image, after all.

I breathed deeply and relayed my plans privately to the Hork-Bajir. I decided to trust my Hork-Bajir companions, since it was easier for an Andalite to fake infestation than a Hork-Bajir. Hork-Bajir, with the added Yeerk intellect, became something almost indistinguishable from their former selves. But in this new chaos an Andalite could act, could spy, and use the knowledge of our plan to mount some kind of counter-offensive.

Of course I was being a fool. An Andalite could simply morph Hork-Bajir and deceive me. But what choice did I have? I was unprepared, still mired in the tragedy of all the events of the day, working with limited information and too little time. I had to count on Andalite arrogance, their need to confront me only in their preferred, natural bodies. Though Andalites had grown pragmatic about many aspects of the war, they were too in love with their precious forms to surrender them.

I sent as many Hork-Bajir as I could spare to the Bridge. I told them to keep communications open with the rest of the ship. I'd need to know what their status was. The rest of my contingent, including a healthy number of Andalites, I brought with me to the Dome.

I realized I would be a seductive target. I had not quite reached Visser Three's level of infamy, but on this ship, I was death. Everyone would focus on me. Every freed Andalite would want to kill me. Fine. Let them. They might even succeed. There was little I cared about at that point.

I entered the Dome. The Pool that had never gotten finished was now torn apart, a rather pointless symbol of the Andalites' resistance. I hoped their ostentatious display would have weakened them, or at least unfocused them. Gray sludge had flowed from the pool and infected the soft, warm grass. It washed over the trees and bled into the river, heavier than water, making strange, separated silver pools that settled on the banks. There was polluted, silver and black mud everywhere, a few Andalites were already stained with it up to their flanks. A long ribbon of spattered mud had covered the first four or five feet of a section of the circumference, body prints where people had thrown each other against it. Slick, stained creatures writhed in it, slipped and slid and barreled into each other, the forces concentrated but quickly diluting all over the area.

I breathed deeply, confidence that we could win this battle slowly being overshadowed by the horror at how out of hand it had already gotten. I would have to end this soon.

I pulled my Dracon Beam from my holster and fired it high into the air.

It hit the inside of the Dome with a loud, vibrating "ping!" The force field flashed and distributed the shot, for a moment sheathing everything in the Dome in a vague, crimson light. The sound resonated until many of them clutched their ears from the noise. A pressure crack appeared in the Dome. All eyes, main and stalk, turned to me. I glared back at them all.

(You want me?) I asked. (Here I am.)

No one moved at first. The farthest duels inched closer, a gravity well of rage bringing us all together again. They all just stared at me with vague hatred and unguided ambition. Then, eyes started turning behind them. They began to part down the middle, allowing something to emerge.

The doctor was bandaging some wounds, but she slapped him away, his face contorting in worry, hers etched from stone. She stepped forward, through the crowd, the medium of their hate and retribution. They all watched her signals, her movements, her meaning. Our eyes were locked in a mutual glare, hers channeling everything from them directly to me.

(You brought this on yourself,) she said. (You pushed me past death. You pushed me past sanity, past pain, past evil.) She stopped about fifteen feet from me, quivering with the nuclear energy that defined her. My Hork-Bajir were armed and poised, itching to fire.

(Get out of Terenia's head.)

I stared back at her sadly for a moment. All the pain in both of our lives had been caused by that single, cryptic message I'd received twenty years ago. I wondered if there was some way to tell her that, to show her that we weren't so different. But I raised my tail instead.

(No,) I said.

She charged.

The rest of her force folded in around her.


	91. Chapter Thirty Three: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FOUR

Two Hork-Bajir intercepted her as I began firing. Her rage had cooled somewhat, but this made her even more frighteningly effective. She sliced through their arms and blades like they were made of clay, a vicious strategic dance that dissolved them into gurgling, bleeding masses. Andalites advanced, forming groups of three and four. She was less violent with them, but no less efficient. Her tail flew from one to the next in a rapid rhythm, like speed chess against multiple contestants. Instead of setting up a fatal blow, she delivered an incapacitating one, a blow to the head that threw them unconscious to the ground or chest that knocked the wind out of them.

They were intent on saving the Andalite Controllers, but the Hork-Bajir were nothing more than massive, living barriers to cut through.

(Andalite controllers!) I cried. (Focus your strength on the free Hork-Bajir. Once they are gone, kill the Andalites. They will not treat you with the same contempt. They want to save your hosts!)

Battle lines shifted. Some Andalites jerked in confusion. Jennor stared at me with a stalk eye, and I responded with a smile.

(Yes Jennor, save all the Andalites except the one that could hurt me the most,) I sneered, face hot and brimming with rage and tears. (Avoid murder until it suits you too perfectly.)

She shoved her tail blade through a Hork-Bajir's chest, but I saw a flash of remorse in her face.

Bursts of red and green light illuminated the silver ground, reflecting back with a haunting, ethereal quality. A couple of shots ignited the tips of Andalite trees, the torches throwing even more horrific, flickering orange light over everything. Worst of all, however, was that some shots were so far off the mark that they continued to assault the inside of the Dome.

(Stop firing!) An unfamiliar voice called out. (Only the external surface of the Dome is fortified against energy weapon attack! You'll kill us all!)

My Hork-Bajir, and a number of other presumed Yeerks, looked back at me for orders. For a moment, I considered telling them "to hell with it." But I nodded curtly. This uprising would have to be quashed hand-to-hand.

Now that Dracon beams were useless, the battle devolved into completely disorganized chaos. Everyone was coated in a uniform layer of silver mud, and a mist of it seemed to seep into the air, it tasted like metal, like pesticide. I retained a guard of at least two Hork-Bajir at all times, protected from any real fighting. But they would break away every so often to join in a mounting and potentially advantage-altering swell.

Even when they left, there were always more Hork-Bajir to fill their place. Andalites were flopping around, armless, on three legs, with half a tail blade. I caught a glimpse of the doctor, an overwhelmed, panicked look in his eyes. Some of the freed Hork-Bajir had made themselves quite obvious by flailing in panic, running around aimlessly, clinging to each other in desperation, trying to climb the structurally unsupportive trees.

We still had more people. The more I watched, the clearer that became. It seemed they were outnumbered at least 3:1—untrained, undisciplined fighters against a group of Hork-Bajir who'd been fighting since the day they burst out of their breeding cylinders and Andalites whose sheer volume fortified them.

We were going to win here.

Then someone new came into the Dome. The girl. The celebrity. The _estreen_.

I lent her a stalk eye. She seemed filled with an uncertain fear, holding her wrists, hunched into herself. She gazed around, out of her element, terrified. Looking for someone. Unsatisfied, but straightening up, she inhaled deeply and began to morph.

The muscles in her arms doubled, tripled in size, and hundreds of green, iridescent, checker-sized scales erupted from her skin vertically, settling over themselves like dominoes, swaddling her in reptilian armor. Her stalk eyes shriveled like burnt hair, her mandible lengthened, splitting horizontally to make a mouth. Teeth, long and moist with saliva, erupted through her thin lips like ivory knives. Her tail shifted, coming under her, making a new leg. The other two legs moved upward, smaller than the fifth, hooves splitting off into four long, thick fingers. She continued to grow, underbite revealing glistening teeth and a snakelike blue tongue, golden, softball-sized eyes settling on either side of her face. Horns erupted from the top of her head, curling like a ram's, and she was finished, some vague, dragon-like creature the size of two elephants.

Hork-Bajir and armed Andalites turned their weapons on her and fired, now that their target was too big to miss. Her scales absorbed the energy and glowed. She laughed. They were powering her up.

(Stop firing!) I cried.

She gazed around, pointing with her leg-sized fingers at all of the Hork-Bajir and Andalties that had fired upon her. Then she went to work. Not fast, but too big to avoid. Swatted them aside like they were crumbled up candy wrappers. Flung them into the clear Dome, punctuated sounds of crunches and snaps revealing that the victims wouldn't be getting up any time soon, leaving blue and green smears running down the side of the glass. Jennor watched with a stalk eye, but kept her main eyes on me.

Jennor continued to inch towards me, now wobbling with a sprained back ankle, a twisted front leg, bleeding and burned, sweating and wheezing thickly. Everyone else was too concerned with the _estreen_ who was wringing a Hork-Bajir in her closed fists like a wet rag. But Jennor was exhausted, and it was making me confident. She'd had a similar effect on my Yeerks that I'd had on her Andalites. Everyone knew this was her fault, and they wanted to be the one to kill her. I suppose they assumed my promises for rewarding her successful assailant were still applicable. I certainly wouldn't contradict that now. As much as I wanted to punish her for murdering Nagrit, I had to be pragmatic about it.

She sliced halfway through my last Hork-Bajir's leg. He sprawled to the ground and slid a few feet back towards me, still swatting at her flanks despite being face-down in the mud. Her ribs were woven with trails of blood, she was missing a hand, lost at the forearm, a stalk eye was hanging off her head by half a strip of skin. Blood framed her face, her flanks, even her tail was twitching in a limping sort of way. She struck at me. Faster than I could have, but slow enough to block.

I flicked her away. Smiled.

(Not so immortal, are you?) I asked. (No god stands before me.) The _estreen _roared in pain, and the snake laughed, I could almost hear it in my head, filling my ears, my arms with strength, my tail with confidence. I could cut her down.

She struck again. I blocked her tail with mine, feeling the heat of her skin, felt her salty sweat soak into my fur—disgusting, enthralling. I shot the Dracon Beam into the ground at her hooves, sending crumbs and clumps of molten dirt into her face. She leapt away, slipping, almost tripping over an unconscious mound of indistinguishable flesh.

(Get out of Terenia's head, and I'll consider sparing you,) she heaved, turning back towards me with a lazy gait and grasping at me weakly with her mutilated arm.

I shot the ground again, and while she was off balance, I cut her across the chest.

(Give up now and I'll make sure your death is painless,) I countered. (Call them off and everyone can live. Otherwise I'll just expel your entire, insolent resistance into space.)

She laughed, striking me again. I pushed her tail out of the way and she stumbled on a cracked leg, quickly and artlessly regaining herself. (We're too valuable to you.)

(I've got a ship with a dozen Andalite controllers headed into Yeerk space,) I said. (Given enough time and fertility drugs, they could repopulate your entire planet.)

She halted, standing straight, eyes narrowed, neck tight in failure. (I'd kill yours again if I could.)

(And I'd forgo all pity for yours.)

She struck again, this time landing a blow deep through my thigh.

I leaped away to survey the damage as two Hork-Bajir barreled toward Jennor and she pranced aside to avoid them. I watched as blood bubbled from the wound, crawling down my leg quickly, almost painlessly. Her blade was sharp; she'd cut very close to my flank, very close to where I could only assume the Andalite womb was. I pressed my tail against my flank, whispering a quick apology to the occupant.

(Terliss,) Terenia whispered. (Terliss, whatever happens, please just make sure he's okay.)

I felt a tear finally claw its way out of my eye and brushed it away. Jennor saw me and looked puzzled, subduing the second Hork-Bajir with a quick blow to the crown of his head, but turned on her bad leg and continued to advance, limping, sending her tail and stalk eyes bobbing with every step.

She got close. I shot the ground again. She shifted too suddenly onto her good leg, and I cut through it. Snapped right through the hollow bone, the tender esophagus, cut it nearly in half. She howled and landed on her knees, immobile.

It would be all too easy now.

I looked around at the Dome, the large swath of Andalite homeworld now swallowed by hell and spit back up. Two Hork-Bajir were holding a flailing, twitching, dead Andalite beneath the water. The _estreen_ had demorphed from injuries, overwhelmed, crying, beyond saving. The ground was ripped up as badly as everyone, bleeding, revealing the wet, fleshy mud beneath. The lights flickered, and a humming noise low in tone indicated the ship was powering down. Something in the Bridge. I wondered who had done it, if it meant that battle was over, if it meant we had won.

The ship began rotating on its axis, stabilizers and dampers offline. Artificial gravity miraculously still operational, but now the orange from the torches and the sickly yellow from Saturn were the only light. I breathed what may be my last breath of fresh air. And I looked back at Jennor.

She was kneeling forward, pressing her weak hand into the silver ground, trying to get up, but both of her front legs were unusable. She watched me with a stalk eye, main eyes averted, ashamed, consumed with grief and failure.

Her troops began to recognize that she was defeated. They turned hope-starved stalk eyes to her, and she watched back with responsibility she could not bear. She continued to strike at Hork-Bajir that advanced, her tail slowed yet vicious, but now they were laughing instead of hissing, arrogant instead of combative. She continued to reach out toward me, like my death could redeem her, though I was now safely out of range of her tail. She even tried to get up to resume the fight.

Hork-Bajir and some Andalites began to gather around her. Laughing, poking, prodding. Bored and unengaged enough to mock her. I was foolish enough to take this as a good sign. Out of arrogance, I waited seconds too long to ask them what the hell they were doing and get back in the fight.

A bright blue light encapsulated them. They stood for a moment in frozen shock, and then disappeared in a cloud of blue and green steam.

I gasped. Jennor fell to her side, splashing in sludge. I scanned the weakening crowd, trying to find who had fired the shot, but the chaos was too complete, everyone indistinguishable in their muddy disguises. A gun went flying across the Dome, but I couldn't tell why or who had been holding it. Still too much movement, though it was calming. Lots of Andalites on the ground, some getting dragged away. Small skirmishes now. I still couldn't tell who had won, if anyone, or if we were all just too tired to continue.

I stepped up to her slowly. Her tail was limp. She'd lost a lot of blood, was breathing in too fast and heavy. Coughing a little, hyperventilating. Her good stalk eye turned up toward me. I watched her for a long time. Long enough for most of the fighting to stop, long enough for heaving and broken forms to turn to the two points of fixation in the Dome. Catching their breath. Witnessing this theater before they continued ripping each other apart.

She appeared so strange now, like when you stare at something so long that it suddenly seems very far away, very small, insignificant. I was confused, filled with hate and love and pity and disgust. Terenia whimpering in my head, accepting the girl's fate, worried now more about something else, something I had promised to protect. Jennor looked away, gripping wet, silver grass with the four remaining fingers of her only hand, coughing up blood, trying to keep from fainting due to its loss.

(It's over, Jennor,) I whispered softly. Her stalk eye turned again, rage quieted, replaced with acceptance and fear.

(Was all of this death worth it?) I asked her. (Was a failed mission of pointless resistance worth all of this blood and pain and destruction? Why couldn't you just die?)

(You're right,) she whimpered. Her hand moved toward a pulsing wound on her side.

(You shouldn't have killed him,) I said to her privately.

(No,) she agreed. (He should have lived.)

(So you're sorry?) I said, voice straining.

(Yes.)

It was too fast. Insincere. It only made me angrier.

(That won't bring him back,) I wept. (Remorse can't redeem this, Jennor.)

(No.)

(But I can.)

I raised my Dracon Beam to her. I aimed for her heart. I would burn out the organ she'd lost all claim to.

(Do you accept your fate, Jennor?) I ensured.

Her stalk eye dipped and narrowed in exhaustion. She didn't say anything, but that was assent enough for the snake. It leaped through me like pleasant lightning, like elation, like orgasm. It was happy. That was all that I needed.

My finger danced on the trigger, almost too content with this turn of events to finally finish it.

I breathed in deeply, mourning Nagrit, accepting victory.

(Goodbye, sister,) I said to her.

I pulled the trigger and felt the hum and vibrations of a working Dracon Beam. I pulled the trigger and saw the tip of the gun glow green. I pulled the trigger, knowing it was going to work, knowing that this hell was finally over, knowing that Jennor-Elacable-Barees was finally going to die.


	92. Chapter Thirty Four: Jennor

Chapter Thirty-Four

Jennor

PART ONE OF FIVE

I'd lost.

It was over.

I didn't watch as she pulled the trigger. Couldn't bear to witness it. I didn't want it anymore. She was right, this was the result of several large mistakes. No flawlessly played out gambit, no master plan. This was the result of uncontrollable rage, rash impulsiveness, childish selfishness. I'd willfully come to this ship, I'd sacrificed my happiness in what I had thought had been an act of selflessness—liberating Terenia, giving life back to the person who had protected mine. But now I'd failed. Now she stood victorious before me, the puppetmaster of my best friend. Terenia was still a slave, and I was useless.

I had failed.

It all seemed to happen very slowly. Slower than all the other times, all of which seemed appropriately paced until they were inevitably foiled. But not this. There was too much time to think, too much time for blood to abandon me, to feel the friction and throb of wounds that would kill me, given the time. Too much time to remember the past and resent its loss, too much time to ache over the things I regretted never being able to do.

The beam fired. My eyes were closed. There was a horrible wave of heat, the smell of burnt hair, charred flesh, and then a thud to my right. Tremors through the ground. Stillness.

It wasn't so different. It still hurt. I still felt wet and cold. Air still filled my lungs. My hearts still pumped blood.

_How disappointing_, I thought. _Death is exactly the same_.

Something beside me shifted, grunted, trembled. Fingers brushed against the side of my arm.

(No!) She cried. Air breezed over my sensitive skin, a current caused by something large, something that landed and started struggling with her. I opened my eyes. Four Andalites were fighting her Hork-Bajir guards, and two other males had grabbed her, wrestling her to the ground, prying the Dracon Beam from her fingers.

(Don't hurt her,) I said before my eyes began to gaze downward, compelled by the question of why I was not yet dead.

A hauntingly familiar face stared back at an odd angle, strong and old and dignified, yet shamed. Next to the face was a fat Yeerk, stretching and recoiling, abandoning his host.

I was confused at first. My heart leaped for some unclear reason, but the rest of me was jammed, still half-believing I was dead and half-questioning that verdict. His hand clutched mine tightly, but I pulled it from his and traced the scar that traveled so straight across his face, so carefully avoiding the valuable parts of it. Whoever had given it to him had done it with precision.

(Father?) I asked.

I snapped up, tangling my legs and sending an electric shock of pain through all of my wounds, but I lifted my upper body so I could look down, so I could verify. I touched the spot between his eyes, and it picked up enough information, penetrated deeply enough to see. I saw our scoop, through a different perspective. One that was tall and solemn, mournful and remorseful. One that seemed to look just past, and not at our home.

I revoked my hand in humiliation. He grunted and stretched his arm toward mine, wrapping his fingers around my slick wrist. I winced. His grip wasn't tight, but it hurt. I tried to pull it away, to stop the pain, to retreat from his judgment and shame, but it just made him grip me tighter.

(Don't pull away,) he said.

(You were infested,) I gasped. (You...you bought her, you're scum! Let go of me!)

He raised his other arm, brushing against my skin, reaching slowly up my chest and neck, grazing my cheek with the tips of his fingers, giving me what I'd longed for so deeply that I couldn't deny it, even now. I calmed down, and he continued to hold my hand, he continued to kiss me.

His stalk eyes waved uncertainly, smiling and frowning and worried and calm. His main eyes, clouded with memory but finally open with honesty were misty, almost crying. I'd never seen him so soft.

(You're just like her, Jennor,) he said, stroking my cheek, gathering his fingers together against the tip of my chin. (It's uncanny. You're identical.)

(Why are you on the ground?) I finally gathered the intellect to ask.

My eyes passed over his body, down his chest and the curve of his back into his lower body. His lower left pectoral was charred and littered with boils and blisters surrounding a gaping, bloody, six-inch hole. And just like that, the events of the last few seconds were clear. This was a Dracon wound. This was the shot he'd taken for me.

(No,) I said, filled again with venomous adrenaline, screaming through my veins as I shifted to press my useless hand and bloody stump against the hole. Blood gurgled out with each beat of his heart, ignoring my pathetic attempts to hold it inside. He grabbed my upper arm and roughly pulled me back, pulled me to face him, pulled me away from saving him.

(No, Jennor,) he said, pulling my bad arm around him, drawing my hand toward his face. (This is my final gift to you.)

(Final?) I cried. (No, Father, this wound is...it's bad, but you can still morph it away! You can heal, just concentrate, you'll be fine, just trust me and—)

(Look at me, Jennor,) he said. (Relax and look at me.)

I obeyed. I watched him, filled with a sudden urge to burst open and profess my love, to purge the regret and boiling emotion that ripped down the flimsy walls that kept him from my hearts. My hand hovered centimeters from his face, itching to read, still too obsessed with the consequences he'd implicitly promised but was now too weak to deliver.

(Do it,) he said. (I need to show you.)

(Show me what?)

(Everything.)

I was terrified of what he meant, terrified of displeasing him, terrified of things too dark to name, but I was most terrified of never knowing, of pulling away, of refusing him and regretting the ignorance I might never rectify. I pressed my mutilated hand against his face and I read.

Recent memories first. A rush of images, overlapping, oversaturated. Squadrons of Andalites ran through the hall, Hork-Bajir screamed in a highly unnatural, frightening way. He poked a stalk eye out of his quarters.

(Something's happening,) he said to his Yeerk.

(What are you going to do to me?)

He ignored the question, composing himself, ready to appear as nonthreatening as possible. He had a stop to make. He headed towards the weapons locker, moving with a controlled speed, a speed that was his own. He wasn't the tool of his Yeerk. He was walking himself.

I didn't understand, searching deeper. He was infested, how could he be walking? Why was this Yeerk afraid of him, why wasn't it wrestling for control?

I pulled my hand away. (You're uninfestable,) I gasped. (You let the Yeerk inside, he was in your brain but not your mind, the whole time you were a voluntary uninfestable, you were the Controller and he was the slave, you were pretending, you weren't—)

He didn't answer, only pushed my hand against his face again.

We were in her quarters. Both of us, together for the first time in weeks. I was on the ground, naked, human, bald, bony, trembling, starved. Did I really look that terrible? He couldn't say. He'd only seen a few of them, a few of these humans, didn't know the difference between healthy and sick, though it was clear I was in pain. Clear that she'd hurt me. Every fiber of his evolutionary instinct urged him to run towards me, snatch me away, nurse me back to health. Was it love? Too dark to tell. He stood, watching my conflicted form staring at the drugs, waiting for me to decide, waiting to see just how weak she'd made me.

I'd said yes. Let him inside. Let him defile me.

Part of him screamed in empathetic agony. And the other part, silent and devious and calm, grinned in success.

This is when he'd tell me. This is when he'd show me that it was all right, that he was on my side, that he was taking care of me. Protecting me from far away, watching out for me. He'd apologize for saying nothing sooner, for hiding the truth from me, but if she found out, she'd just reinfest him with somebody stronger or kill him. He was as valuable to me as he could be, masquerading as the enemy and waiting for an opportunity to rise.

The Yeerk squirmed for control, but his power was too great. He laughed at it as he removed his shirt, willing to go almost the entire length to ensure that she would buy his performance, that she would leave us in here alone together, that she would give us a reunion, though not the one she had planned.

(Sub-Visser, get out of here,) she'd said. He looked at her in shock. Did she know?

No. This was not knowledge. This was pity.

The most unintentionally helpful pity she had ever felt.

He should have obeyed her order immediately, but a flare of rage caused him to risk his subterfuge: "But this plan, this idea…you said that—"

(I changed my mind. Get out of here before I give your host to someone more loyal,) she snapped, watching him closely with diamond eyes, hard enough to cut through to the truth.

He obeyed. It almost made him kill her, but he obeyed.

I was staring down at him. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes crinkled in pain. I should have been furious, but I couldn't help but pity him, admire the strength it must have taken to deny me when he had the power and desire to do everything but.

I kept reading.

(You did well,) she had said. (I imagine that was difficult.)

All those other uninfestables knew, now. I was cornered in my cage, recovering from Trylast's surprise attack. Trylast knew I was a Hermilian. Isstarim, Noorlin, they all did. And as much as his heart ached for the injuries and humiliation I'd sustained, rage burned within him for something else. He'd just verified that my mother was a whore, that he'd purchased her, that I probably wasn't even his.

He'd just lied.

(Ma'am,) he said, (You have no idea.)

I jerked my hand away. I couldn't take anymore.

(You should have told me sooner,) I said. (I could have hidden the truth. I wouldn't have exposed you.)

(Jennor, you sing so loudly when I give you what you want,) he said. (Can't you hear yourself now? Can you see what you're doing?)

I shook my head, trying to stop it, but it spilled easily through the cracks and punctures in my façade. I gazed around at all the bloodied civilians fighting a war they had hidden from, now watching my Father and me like we were a spectacle, a public display of private turmoil. I scowled and bowed down toward his head, hiding from their judgment.

(No, don't stop,) he said as I quieted, as I paced my thoughts and tried to silence their pervasion. (Don't stop, Jennor, don't deny it anymore.) He grabbed my hand again, pulled it close to his face. (There's more, Jennor, you need to see.)

Back, now. Further. Before the Dome Ship, before Earth, before Aximili. Back to the worst day of my life.

It was late. He felt an empty pang of hope charge through him when his communicator gave a thought-speech indicator that someone was calling. Maybe it was her. She never had anything good to say, and even though the conversations always ended with one of them in tears or seething with rage, it would be nice to see her again.

It was her. She looked beautiful, young. Terrified.

It was me.

(Father, please listen, I—)

(I told you never to call here again,) he said, not knowing quite why he was bringing up the regrettable end to their last conversation. He steadied himself and continued, hoping she would forgive him. (I've already told you I've done everything I can. There's nothing left for her.) _And I'm sorry. Why couldn't you just be honest with me about that villain, why couldn't you...no, it's not your fault. It's my fault. And I'm sorry._

He pitied himself for a moment too long. Allowed himself selfish hope and heartache for a moment too long. It took a moment too long for him to finally listen to what I had said.

("Father?" Jennor, is that you? Jennor, if it's you, oh God, it is, Jennor! Where are you?) The screen had gone blank, but he was pounding on it, his weak fists smudging the ramonite, (Jennor, please, just wait, Jennor, please! I'll trace the call, I'll find you! What have I done?) He cried, grasping his forehead, shivering with fury. (What kind of fool have I become?)

That was when he'd decided. He had to wait for the philanthropists to donate the money, the military to approve the project, and those two privileged parents of his old tail-fighting student to figure out the details, but he'd made up his mind. He'd trade in his life savings for a ticket aboard the _NovaBlade_. He'd been ineffectual and self-blaming long enough. It was time to act.

I kept my hand against his face, but shifted my focus so I was looking at him, not into his mind, so I could see him, so I could speak to him directly.

(I see, Father. I understand. It's all right, I forgive you. Now please, morph something, morph anything, fix that wound, get up.)

(Hearing you say that relieves a pain I've nursed for decades,) he sighed, smiling, (but I must ruin it, Jennor. Your forgiveness is premature.)

(What do you mean?)

(This is my last chance to atone for my behavior,) he said. (You know the good, and I'm glad that you do. But you have to know the bad, too, my beautiful daughter. You need the complete picture before you can make a judgment.)

My hand was glued to his face as if it had been born there, as if it had been lost for years and had finally completed its odyssey home. The channel was clear, the interference was minimal. It was just me and him, revolving together, remembering the hardship of the past.


	93. Chapter Thirty Four: Part Two

PART TWO OF FIVE

* * *

Andal. He hadn't returned to her in almost fifteen years. No reason to get pulled back somewhere you had no ties. All the same, he had missed her. He breathed in a heaping quantity of air. The smell of moist grass, clean water, and fresh dirt made him feel decades younger.

_Andal. It's been too long.  
_  
After a tedious debriefing process including mounds of veteran eligibility paperwork, stamped forms, and the overall redundancy of bureaucracy, he headed "home." He'd applied to live on the equator, but his résumé wasn't impressive enough to the Relocation Board. Fine. Move back to where he was born, then. Only one housing option there. An old scoop recently acquired by the military. Small, drafty, worn down. Fitted with outdated leather flooring, thick, weather-vulnerable canvass. He sighed. Though the majority of his life would be spent elsewhere—outside, or at the base—he couldn't help feeling disappointed by how lifeless and cold it was. There were no furnishings, the plant life was despicably scant, and something deeper was missing, an absence that caused a profound heartache within him.

People. There were no people in his scoop.

His career had not given his life the meaning he had wanted. At this age, he wondered if he would ever find his purpose.

Yes, he was old. It had been a long war, and the worst part was that it wasn't over yet. Twenty-five years of active service, twelve of them consecutive, the four most recent in combat, and what good had his presence done? He'd witnessed the horror of Hork-Bajir, the claustrophobia of space warfare, the loneliness and alienation of living with people who might be dead the next time you expected to see them. It was a tough life, and he hadn't made many friends, more from the fear of losing them than inability or misanthropy. He was old. And he was lonely. But he was used to it.

He spent a couple of weeks trying to scrub away the ghosts from his little scoop, gave half-heated attempts to make it his own. It struck him, finally, that he had nothing except his career. His only belongings of any value were his Shredder and an old Hork-Bajir blade, a talisman from a ranking official he had successfully captured and interrogated. And for what? So War-Prince Alloran could surrender the planet to destruction? He cursed himself for getting frustrated. _That's all in the past, Sofor. Leave it there._

He went on walks occasionally. How much he would have preferred to live on the equator, where they were allowed to garden, to bring some life and beauty to the landscape. The planet had been wiped clean of all geography during the Great Terraforming, and now the privileged could redesign it however they pleased. But not him. The Electoral climatologists feared that inclusive landscaping rights would undo the effects of the terraforming. No one north or south of 30 degrees latitude was allowed. Those became the poverty lines, the unintentional dividers between the upper and lower class. If you lived between them, you mattered. If not, sacrifice your hearts to marry between the borders, or else, maybe next life.

On one particular walk, he passed something rare and worthy of closer inspection. A flowerbed atop the tallest local hill. He climbed it slowly, arthritic knees begging him not to, but sure enough, there they were. _Hallah_ flowers, growing naturally. Such a difficult flower to tame and domesticate, such a treat to see them like this. Somehow better to respect in nature than to duplicate in greenhouse. He smiled sadly at them, bending down with a groan and stroking the orange and pink petals. They responded to his touch, curious, testing him, almost sentient.

(Live for another day, little one,) he said. (Beautiful and vulnerable. Not a particularly beneficial combination.)

That was when he realized he was being watched.

He swept his stalk eyes around, glad for a moment that he'd given himself good tactical position. There were few Andalites in his eyelines. Unpolished and often vulgar, but still worth the sacrifice of his service. But they weren't watching him, unconcerned with an old veteran who didn't bother them. His stalk eyes continued to sweep, paranoid now, getting afraid. Why did he feel this sudden, aching pain spreading throughout his gut? He rose up carefully, and then saw her.

Straight ahead. Staring right at him.

She was beautiful. His mind wrapped around that fact quickly and without restraint. She was long and graceful, with a thin, feminine tail that arched elegantly over her back, stalk eyes that curled above her head like delicate blossoms, and a face that even twenty meters away was shockingly gorgeous. He was almost ashamed of it, ashamed to be gazing at something so clearly superior to himself, and so young. So much life still ahead of her. The reaction was sudden and painful, like being submerged into cold water. He was surprised how quickly he fell in love with her.

Girls, there had always been girls, professional girls hanging around the camps and invited aboard the fighters, at least until news got out and the War Council had to forbid them. Some he had merely tolerated, some he had purchased, some he had loved, but not like this. Not so fast and so completely.

He glanced away, overcome with it, almost clutching his chest in response. _No,_ he thought quickly, shaking his stalk eyes. _Not for you, you old fool. Let the young be young. You had your chance, let her have hers._

He looked back at her. She was approaching him.

He breathed in deeply, too old to be afraid of a confrontation with a young thing like her. He'd be polite, kind. Respectful. Refuse her curtly and without emotion. He waited for her to climb the hill, watching her, entranced, as she did.

She moved in front of him so they stood face to face. She was not much shorter than him. Staring at her, he got a warm, heavy feeling in his chest, like this encounter was perhaps the single most important event in his life. Her eyes were the most vivid green he'd ever seen. Her face was emotionless, but self-aware. He wondered for a moment if he should take proper precautions, block her from his hearts. He knew he had to be careful.

(You love me,) she said to him.

He finally exhaled, suspecting something that should have made her undesirable. But it didn't. He smiled. It made her even lovelier, and every defensive instinct bled away. He opened his hearts to her wider than he had in decades.

(I do not believe we have been introduced,) he responded.

(Don't dodge, it's unfitting.)

(Yes, I do. My name is Sofor.)

Her main eyes narrowed and she smiled. (That didn't take as long as I expected.)

(Well, you can probably tell I don't have much time left for denial.)

She laughed a little bit. (I'm Alina.)

(How old are you, Alina?)

She cocked her head to one side and inspected him slowly. (Less than half as old as you, I would say.)

(Why did you come up here, Alina?)

She gazed at him for a long time, reading slowly, unblinking, unashamed. She reached forward and grabbed his hand. It was ice cold, confirming his suspicions.

(Because I needed to.)

He was aware that atop this hill, they were fully visible, fully scandalous. Alina couldn't have been older than three cycles, if he was lucky. She was still a child. Clearly a very desirable one, clearly someone whose premature loss would resonate. But for some reason, he could not withdraw his hand, he could not make the emotionless refusal he had planned. His hard, barbed-wire hearts had melted, and they made him hold on tight. Every moral and taboo in his head told him to let go, but he didn't want to, and he wasn't going to.

They walked for a long time that night. Total strangers both already deeply aware of the other's darkest secret. He didn't know anything about her that mattered, but he knew all that he needed to. They spoke in short, compact sentences, not padding their conversation with the normal manners and etiquette. She pointed out his age and poor social status, and he reciprocated by saying she had no idea what she was doing. She agreed.

(I don't know anything about you, but I know what I want.)

(And what is that, Alina?)

(I want you, Sofor.)

Twilight had ebbed away and three moons now punctuated the sky. He looked down at her in shock.

(Why?)

She smiled. Her bright, green eyes sparkled in the starlight and she moved in close to him. (I don't know.)

She reached her hand up toward his face, and despite knowing firsthand how dangerous it was, he let her. He let her kiss him for almost an hour, absorbing every spare thought that flooded through his head, every dark secret, every petty humiliation. They tumbled through him in shame, and he was sure some would cause her to pull away in disgust, but she didn't, she seemed almost elated by them, almost validated. Finally she grew tired and buried her face into his chest. She slept in his arms, and he didn't push her away, didn't ask her to go home, just held her there until the suns rose and she woke up.

The affair moved frighteningly fast.

She introduced him to her grandmother within the week. Her mother had died some years before, and though he was expecting a protective, overbearing guardian, Pyrilla was surprisingly thrilled with him. Watching her, he couldn't help but wonder how much older she was than him. If she was older than him at all.

The age difference disturbed him. He brought it up to Alina with some frequency.

(It is strange,) he pointed out.

(To others.)

(Not to you?)

(Do you feel older than me, Sofor?)

(I know I am.)

(I do not feel younger than you.)

(But you are.)

She stared at him in disappointment for a few moments while she formulated a response. (Souls have no age, Sofor. But they do have mates, lost in the ephemeral churning of the cycle, separated again and again by the vicious forces that make our world grow.)

He laughed. (You are some mystic.)

(You don't think I'm your soul mate?)

(I don't believe in them.)

(You've been unsatisfied for seventy years, Sofor. Yes, a girl my age with a man yours is strange, but no stranger than a seventy-year old, competent male who refused to take a wife.)

He felt a swell of emotion in his chest, surprised by his sudden belief in her statement.

(If we are soul mates, then why aren't we closer in age? Why isn't it more appropriate, why isn't this easier?)

(Bodies are tied to our souls for short, arbitrary amounts of time,) she explained, moving close to him, pressing her cold, thin hands against his chest. (Perhaps we were closer in our last life, and you died young. Perhaps I lived in grief for decades. You were reborn first, waiting for me all this time.)

It was silly, unproven, idle, childish speculation. But it made him weep, and he bent down and allowed her to wrap her cold arms around him, allowed her to sing beautiful songs of comfort to him, allowed her to touch his face and make his grief her own.

(You have been alone for so long,) she cooed. (You have no need to fear loneliness anymore.)

He married her less than a month later.

It was a small ceremony, greatly gossiped about and derided in their community, and caused him some degree of shame. He had planned to live out his remaining years in relative isolation and quiet. He'd had plans to write a personal account of the opening years of the war. Instead, he'd married a seventeen-year old child. Everyone thought she was coerced by him, manipulated or purchased, the chattel in some dark exchange. Everyone painted him as the mastermind villain. If only they knew he shared their confusion. Though he hadn't manipulated her, he wondered if she had done something to him. Falling in love so fast...she was Hermilian, after all. They had been known to enchant men stronger than him. But he didn't really care either way. Perhaps that was the problem. He was happy, and whether it was manufactured or genuine was secondary to that fact.

On their wedding night, she led him to a local grove of _Derrishoul_ trees for privacy. Normally she kept her emotions and thoughts hidden from him, tucked firmly away, but now he could feel how anxious she was, how stiff with apprehension and uncertainty. Despite her discomfort, it relieved him. She was so sure of herself in all other situations, so confident, he was glad there was still something that unsettled her.

(They'd only just planted this grove when I began my training,) he said. (I remember how hard everyone lobbied, how many appeals were filed just for the right to plant these trees. They must be eighty feet tall now.)

Facing the other way, she smiled with a stalk eye. (They are very old, my love.)

He approached her slowly, making sure to give her all the room she needed. She turned to him. Eyes wide and trusting, breath deep.

(Why did you choose this place?) He asked her.

(It's tradition.)

(I see.) He brushed his palms against her cheek, and she relaxed, pressing into him tentatively. He paid close attention to her, watching as her stiff posture slackened, as her eyes closed in assent.

She raised her hands and returned the kiss jerkily, trembling, moving them down his neck and chest, taking no time to enjoy the process, too scared about looking forward to stop worrying and look around.

(Is this good? Am I doing this right?) She whispered, groping, tweaking, and pinching his lower chest. He smiled and breathed into her ear.

(It's fine,) he said calmly, running his hands down her side, inching toward her back. Her touch was erratic and inexperienced, but he wasn't worried. He was in no hurry. She would improve.

It had been some time since he'd been with a woman, but it was one of those skill sets that did not deteriorate from bad upkeep. For a moment he held his hands on her waist, breathing her in, reflecting on the events of the past few weeks. Her beautiful fur was iridescent, glowing red, orange, yellow, and white in the four competing moons' light, and as smooth to touch as glass.

He really did love her.


	94. Chapter Thirty Four: Part Three

PART THREE OF FIVE

He never thought of a woman's back as a fertile plain or feeding ground, like all of those likely-homosexual poets did. It wasn't something that nourished just by sitting there and waiting for you. It required maintenance. You had to provide inputs to get the desired results.

He thought of it more like a stringed instrument. Something beautiful that became moreso with talent and practice. Over the years, he'd learned a few powerful melodies. And because Alina was so young, and already so charged with nervous energy that wasn't difficult to translate into arousal, he didn't have to play them very long before she was ready.

Though she had been the one filled with uncertainty and anticipation, he'd been the one changed by their first night together. As soon as they were bonded, and she read him while they made love, he could feel her in his hearts. She knew how to control it, so it wasn't constant, but her warm shadow was now always in his mind. They'd ceased being two separate people. Now they were truly a unit.

She moved into his small scoop. She was the thing that made it his own.

They lived in myopic happiness for a few weeks, until more warriors came home for leave, or at the end of their tour of duty. He was laughing with her, playing a game of grab-tag, filling himself with her delight, when suddenly her face went stony, her spirit sank, and her stalk eyes whirled around.

(Tuxebi,) she said.

(What's the matter?) He asked her.

(He's back. I have to...oh no, I have to go,) she said, dismissing him and heading in another direction.

(What's wrong? What's happened? We can fix this, whatever it is,) he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her close.

(Don't do that,) she hissed, pulling away. (He can't see us together. I'll be back soon. I don't want to involve you.)

(I am involved,) he said, grabbing her arm again. She looked at him sadly, drooping her stalk eyes in assent.

They met the boy halfway.

He stood back, as Alina requested, but almost surged forward in jealousy and chivalry when the young, bucking warrior wrapped the girl in his arms with glee.

(There wasn't a day I stopped thinking about you, my beloved, there wasn't a moment in the horror of battle that I...) The boy's dark stalk eye spun around and spotted him.

(Who's he?)

Alina inhaled deeply and took his hands. (My husband.)

He disliked Tuxebi immediately, but even he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the young man, clearly so full of hope and expectation. It looked like he had been struck with a tail blade to the temple, his eyes went blank, his shoulders and tails slumped. A small push would probably send him to his knees.

(Husband?) He laughed after some time. (Surely this is a joke, no? Not a very nice way to greet someone who's been away for so long, Alina.)

(It's no joke,) she said. (I'm sorry, Tuxebi.)

Tuxebi's confusion slowly darkened into rage, wrapped itself around him so tightly that blood pooled in the sensitive areas of his body, his cheeks flushed and his muscles stiffened. For a moment, he was sure that Alina was going to die. He raised his tail and stepped forward.

(You humiliate me like this?) He asked. (You marry some dried-up corpse instead of waiting for me to return? I was gone six months, Alina, did nothing I say matter to you?)

She watched him, holding her ground, despite the fact he was clearly readying himself for battle.

(I love you, Alina, I love you more completely than I thought possible. Please, don't do this. Don't condemn me to life without you. I can't bear it. I can't bear war and heartbreak. Please,) he said, lifting her hands up to his face so she could see. She tried to pull them away, but he gripped them tightly, and she was weak, and that was enough for Sofor. He stepped forward and pushed Tuxebi back with the flat of his blade.

(Stay out of it, old man!) the boy cried, leaping into his fighting stance. He raised his tail in retaliation and prepared to defend her honor, but she stepped in between them.

(He's right, Sofor. Leave me this responsibility,) she said. She touched Tuxebi's hand and disarmed him. He raised his hands to his face and curled them into fists.

(I'm just expendable to you,) he seethed, laughing. (But you're not like everyone else. You're supposed to be different. You promised me, so long ago, you said I could depend on you and you made me believe you.) His anger grew, overtaking him, making him appear more animal than man. (If you do this to me, Alina, I'll have no reason to continue living.) He paused again, breathing fast and deep, cowering like cornered prey. (If you do this, I'll kill myself!)

It was an embarrassing act of desperation. He almost turned away in shame. So like the young, to take refuge in the overdramatic displays of ostentation. He watched Alina closely. The promise seemed to shake her, but she sighed. The boy seemed to regret the vow immediately, and he almost felt bad, knowing how powerful Alina's influence was to make him threaten something so immature and undignified. The boy was heartbroken, and perhaps it was his fault.

(It is done, Tuxebi,) she said. She pressed her hand into his chest and he began to weep. She pulled away from the boy and headed back toward him, taking his hand and walking back towards their scoop. He watched the crumpled boy as they headed over the rise, and soon he disappeared from view. He was ready to put the whole uncomfortable situation behind them forever, but Alina was pale with fear when they finally returned home.

(What is it?) He was forced to ask her, since she blocked him from her mind. (What did he show you?)

She stared off for a long time, shaking her stalk eyes slowly. (Nothing,) she responded. (It is simply unfortunate.)

He didn't need to be an Hermilian to know that she was lying, but he let it go.

Tuxebi appeared every once in a while in the future, always staring at him with dark, cold eyes, vowing revenge. He pitied him, but was growing sick of the inconvenience his hatred caused. Every time Tuxebi crossed their paths, a spike of guilt and regret would course through Alina, and something else too quick and shameful to identify, and even though she had given him a second wind in his twilight years that had lifted him higher than ever, her happiness was more important to him than anything.

(If your life will be simpler and happier without me in it, then I will leave without complaint,) he offered her as she stared off into the sunset, distracted.

(What are you talking about?) She snapped.

(You still seem upset about Tuxebi, and if you prefer him, I'll—)

(I chose you, Sofor,) she said, sighing. (I would never replace you, no matter what inconvenience or challenge threatens us.)

She opened her hearts to him, offsetting her subtlety, and Sofor knew very well that she was no longer talking about Tuxebi, but he stayed silent.

A few more days passed without incident, but he knew that was meaningless. The subject had been breached, and no amount of denial or avoidance would postpone the confrontation forever.

They'd just gone out for their morning run. Alina had uncharacteristically sprinted ahead of him, and he let her, knowing her youth would outmatch his willpower any day. He didn't cut her off, either, when she turned back towards his scoop. He took their normal route alone, and returned about ten minutes after she did, finding her pacing frantically within.

(You're not taking,) she said, (and I want you to tell me why.)

(You know why,) he said quietly.

(No, Sofor, I want you to tell me.)

A part of him knew this conversation was going to change their entire relationship, but he had to tell the truth.

(Because I've been preventing it,) he said, still catching his breath, wobbling on his pained knees. (Because I don't want children, so I've taken the measures to make sure I don't take. I want our marriage to remain fruitless.)

He'd given up all use of euphemism and social courtesy when they'd first met, but now he wondered if he had been too harsh. Alina stopped. Her eyes turned to him, and she gave him the most piercing look possible, a look that shamed him and cut him down worse than when a drill sergeant from decades ago had cut off his tail at its base, slung it over his shoulder, and told him he could have it back when he grew the spine to support it. He never thought a girl would be able to hurt him like that.

(You were willing to change when I married you. You were capable of selflessness. You wanted a family. But now you're stubborn. Now, when it matters, you change your mind. Now, you prove yourself as indecisive and immature as the rest of your kind.)

(I never wanted children, Alina.)

(Then why did you marry me?)

He knew no answer would appease her, but he responded anyway. (You never told me how important—)

(How could I have made it clearer to you, Sofor?) She said, voice rising.

He couldn't help but laugh at her. Only an Hermilian could expect something completely unspoken to be perfectly clear.

(This is funny to you?)

(Calm down, Alina. I'm sure we can reach some sort of compromise.)

(No, we can't. You give me what I want, or I leave.)

She stepped up close to him, then, producing waves of rage, betrayal, and disgust so great that he felt like he was drowning in her displeasure. He'd never seen her so sharp, so devoted to a single purpose, and it made his hearts ache.

(I can't do it, Alina.)

Her tail moved slowly, slow enough that he could duck to avoid it, but he stood perfectly still. Her delicate but sharp female blade pressed deeply into his temple.

(Say that again.)

He stared at her for minutes, more in love with her than ever. (I can't.)

She cut him, and he let her. She cut him, and it was the worst injury he'd ever sustained. Not the deepest, not the most destructive, not even the most painful, and yet it caused him the most pain. She stomped past him and didn't return.

He went to her grandmother's. No one was there. He searched for days, heartbroken and remorseful, but still decided. Her theory about soul mates had been inspiring, but perhaps it was too fanciful. Perhaps he had never married precisely for this reason. The thought of children terrified him. Some little sentient thing reliant solely on him for sustenance, protection, guidance, love. How much more love could he spare? So much potential for it had been sapped by his years in service; the amount Alina had inspired seemed unnatural. But she was an inspiring individual. Confident, beautiful, self-aware. He began to wonder if it was even him that she'd fallen in love with at all, or just the thought of a child. Perhaps he was just a means to an end. Perhaps she really had manipulated him, perhaps he had just been taken in by an Hermilian witch like millions before.

It seemed another chapter in his life was over.

He needed to get off the homeworld. He took a two-year contract as a trainer on the _StarSword_. It was a suitable position, now with his new scar. It made him an intimidating authority figure. He'd morphed after she cut him, but the evidence did not disappear. It meant too much. He'd never be able to erase it, no matter how many times he cycled it away.

Despite the length of his absence, there was not a day that passed that he didn't miss her. It was a constant ache in his chest, an incessant itch in his mind. He'd always been skeptical about the tales his mother and aunts had told him, the lifelong bond that mates formed on their conjugal night. But something had changed in him. He was incomplete without her.

At the end of his contract, he returned home. She was waiting for him at the base.

She didn't say anything to him, but waited for him to approach and wrap her in his arms. He held her as War-Princes, _arisths_, and contingents of fighter pilots bustled by at some inconceivable speed, she read him and didn't pull away or cut him again because she knew he was convinced.

Her happiness was the most important thing, after all, and it was clear that this was all she wanted.

His scoop was not as he had left it. Alina had moved back in while he was gone, had renovated enough to make it unrecognizable. She had begun preparations, downloading pamphlets and instruction manuals from the intelligence grid, acquiring little educational trinkets and toys that he hadn't seen in decades. He'd never seen her quite like this, so clearly excited, bustling with so much enthusiasm. She'd changed in the years he was gone. She usually maintained such an air of dignity and haughtiness, of pretention, something he quite liked about her. Not that this made her undesirable, but it surprised him. She was so openly maternal so suddenly, it made him wonder if she'd just been hiding it until she had his unconditional commitment.

It didn't take long for her to conceive. Despite the lingering doubt and uncertainty he made no attempt to hide from her, she confirmed his virility had not waned in his twilight years less than six weeks after he returned.


	95. Chapter Thirty Four: Part Four

PART FOUR OF FIVE

The first months were painful, and she tried to hide it from him. He knew she felt guilty about cutting him, about the ultimatum she'd imposed. She thought she had taken advantage of him, so she didn't ask him for help with anything, and kept him separate from any pain, sensations, or emotions stemming from the pregnancy. For a couple of weeks, he let this go unchallenged, but finally, when she collapsed to the ground with a vicious leg and abdominal cramp on their afternoon run, he carried her home over his back and scolded her for excluding him. Finally he felt a swell of affection rise in her, and shortly after, echoes of all the symptoms that, as a male, he never should have been able to feel.

Despite her proactive approach to the situation, the weeks slipped by too quickly. Before long, the pregnancy was apparent, her flanks spread outward and she needed to rest inside the scoop on soft, spread blankets for many hours a day. He rested beside her sometimes, complaining about his stiff knees and artificial hip, settling beside her on the ground, stroking her warm, heaving lower body with his hand and tail. She told him that his lies were transparent and unnecessary, but he kept telling them, and she kept letting him.

Alina had chosen to use her cousin, a nurse trained in an equatorial medical facility, as the midwife. Sofor would have much preferred Alina using the services of the military base. Access to advanced medical care was one of the only compelling perks he'd received from his service in the military: high-quality equipment, unfazed and experienced field medics, and top-notch rehabilitation facilities, but Alina insisted. Sofor did not argue. Some part of him realized that he had little influence on how this situation played out. Some part knew he was more of an intimate spectator than a direct participant.

(Everything looks fine,) Ratrona said after scanning Alina quickly, checking the progress of the fetus' growth with her hands. (Positioning looks good, Alina is healthy, everything is progressing normally. You're still taking those protein supplements I recommended?)

(Yes,) Alina responded, looking slightly pale. He felt a swell of foreknowledge, a stupid, inexplicable bad feeling, but said nothing.

(All right, then. I've got to get home, but I'll be back in a couple of weeks. Keep to groundrest if you feel dizzy. It's quite normal.)

He almost said something again, but stopped himself.

Despite himself, and despite his mild paranoia about something being wrong with his wife, he began looking forward to the future. Fear no longer gripped his heart. Some of Alina's excitement had rubbed off on him. They still did not know the sex of the baby. Well, Alina thought she did, but Ratrona contradicted her and their disagreement worried him more than he thought it would.

(I already know it's a girl,) Alina said.

(Then how can you explain the male-shaped tail blade?) Ratrona asked.

(What do you mean?)

(You can't feel it?) she asked, pressing her hands against Alina's flanks until she found it. (There. That's a male blade. No female could bear a blade like that.)

(But I know, Ratrona,) Alina said, gripping the midwife's hands.

Ratrona looked worried. Alina's grip remained steadfast, and Ratrona started shaking her head. (It's been centuries. We're just about due.)

(What?) Sofor asked, irritated that Alina had suddenly cut him out again.

(Will you help me?) Alina asked, gripping her cousin's arms tightly. (If it is the Demagogue, I'm not going to give him up, Ratrona. I'll run away with him if I have to. You need to know that now.)

Ratrona gazed at her for a few moments, still shaking her head. (Let's not worry about it yet. The scans indicate you're right anyway, but I haven't calibrated this in a while so it could be a false-positive. Let's wait until the birth. I don't want to make any premature judgments.)

After Ratrona left, he touched Alina's shoulder. (What did that mean?) He asked her.

Alina was paler than ever. (Nothing. Everything's fine. Things just may be...complicated.)

Complications were only beginning to arise.

Alina fainted one morning just after waking up. She was still prostrate, so she didn't hurt herself, but he was justifiably shaken up. He insisted on advanced medical care, nearly calling the military ambulance to take her in for a real check-up. She refused, saying she was fine, she just needed water, everything was fine and he should stop worrying so much.

(It's your cousin, she seems unfocused and more concerned with the petty beliefs of your race than your well-being. And I don't understand why you'd need to run away if it turns out to be a colt instead of a filly, or what a "Demagogue" is.)

Alina moved slowly, climbing to her hooves, and kissed him. He almost chastised her for getting up and risking serious injury to herself, but he wrapped his arms around her back and pressed her head into his shoulder.

(Sofor, Ratrona will both bring the child into life and keep me in it,) she said, deliberately avoiding his other concerns. (You must have faith.)

Alina's health continued to slip until one dark night two weeks later. A cloud marred the second sister moon, moving with it slowly across its orbit. Clouds were rare on the homeworld, since rain had been abolished during the Great Terraforming. Sofor found little sleep, dreams plagued with terrible visions of standing on a tall ridge, looking down, filled with vague regret and guilt and loss, searching for something just out of reach, and instead watched as Alina tossed and turned, sheathed in cold sweat, as grey as diseased grass. The cloud didn't pass until morning.

Alina woke up suddenly, staring straight ahead, breathing shallow and looking terrified.

He knelt in front of her as the Elder sun's rays reached around the planet like a loving arm. (Alina, look at me,) he whispered.

Her eyes moved slowly, still more engaged with whatever she had dreamed than with him. He pressed his hand into her cheek and moved her to face him.

(I can't stay,) she whispered.

He grasped what she meant immediately, but couldn't face it, and didn't ask her to clarify, and pretended that he didn't understand, just wrapped her in his arms and cursed that evil cloud for ruining both of their nights.

She didn't bring it up again until a month before the child was due.

The scoop was nearly prepared, and Alina was confined to her dark little corner. He stood at the threshold in adoration and protection, less because it was necessary and more because it satisfied some nagging instinctual urge. Alina kept reviewing the events that would indicate that labor had come, at which time he would call Ratrona to get everything underway. She put down her review materials and stared at him for a long time, pulling him in and stabbing him with the immediacy of her despair. He wanted to look away, to keep watching outside the scoop, to stay engaged with his pointless task.

(I can't stay, Sofor.)

(Alina, it's almost time for your afternoon nap. I'll get your _trilaxia _root.)

(Sofor, look at me.)

He stopped his denial and obeyed. Her eyes were still green, but no longer filled with curiosity and haughtiness, now filled with sorrow and heartbreak, completely grounded.

(Why not, my love?)

(So much harm...I can't even describe what will happen to her, I just know that she'll suffer if I stay.)

(What...you're leaving without the child?)

(Yes.)

(You can't do that.)

(I must.)

(I can't...no, I can't do this. I told you I couldn't do this. I accepted it because we'd be doing it together, because I would be secondary and you'd care for her...I'm not capable of this, Alina, I never was.)

(Yes you are, Sofor. Even if you can't see it, even if you think you don't want it, you're going to be a father.)

He was furious, stepping out of the scoop so he could flail his tail around, feeling now that he'd been coerced into this unlikely and unfitting role. But then he looked back at her, the seated, subdued girl that he loved, and knew that whatever had caused this would hurt her much more than it hurt him.

(Why can't you stay, Alina?)

She began to weep, putting her cold hands to her face. He swept toward her, kneeling on his aching, whining knees and pressed his hands against her face.

(I had a vision the night with the cloud,) she said. He felt another flare of frustration, wanting to tell her that she'd had a dream, not a vision, knowing full well that she could hear his dissatisfaction, and quieted it so she could continue. (A dark path forked off into two directions. One was clouded, painful, but continuous. The other was bright and ended suddenly. I walked down the bright path. At the end of it, there was...I can't,) she sobbed, wrapping her cold arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his. He felt the anger ebb, knowing she wasn't delusional or insane, knowing that this was real, and that she was right.

She cried for a long time, and he continued to kneel until his knees creaked and groaned and he'd need to morph the damage to them away. (What am I supposed to do, Alina?) He asked.

(You're supposed to do what you think is right,) she told him.

For the next month, he toiled over what that was.

He spent the last few weeks with her quietly, knowing there was no way to change her mind, knowing that he might never see her again, the only evidence of their abridged affair this little stranger that was about to join the world. He lay with her in their scoop as the suns rose and fell and rose again, not talking except for the little rituals that demarcated the day, not planning or worrying, just being. She slept in his chest and he stroked her side, massaging cramps away when they flared up, feeling her shallow, slow breath as the clock ticked, wishing this time could last forever.

But then she gasped in pain, eyes snapping open, and knowing what it was, he called Ratrona.

Hermilian tradition dictated that the father was not to be present at the time of the birth. Ratrona pulled back the sheets and told him to go to the base and wait. He couldn't hang around outside and draw attention to himself. Though their community hated Hermilians as fiercely as any Andalites, they all had unnaturally intimate knowledge of Hermilian tradition. So he waited, feeling that boundless psychic connection to Alina's pain, feeling the nightmare of shattering muscles stretching up into him, gripping the side of an unoccupied conference room and waiting until the pain peaked and then began to ebb, and some new feeling filled him, some terrible happiness spoiled into grief by the foreknowledge of what was about to come.

He rushed home on his aching knees, tearing into the soft ground, ripping moist chunks of it into the air, the Elder sun mere hours from dipping below the horizon. When he got home, he saw piles of bloody sheets outside of his scoop and felt a shock of terror grip and turn him to ice.

Then Ratrona emerged from the scoop, looking worried, wiping blood off her hands on the edge of another sheet. (It's an abomination,) she sighed. (I'll have nothing to do with that creature.)

(Is Alina all right?) He asked.

(She's inside.) He glared at her, awaiting clarification.

(Sedated, exhausted, but yes, she's fine.)

He ignored the troublesome girl and tore into his scoop.

Alina looked up at him and tears streaked her face, long blue lines signaling the trauma that allowed them. His hearts ached suddenly and he felt hot spikes in his own face, now seeing the full consequences of her vision, knowing the pain of this responsibility.

He could never inspire the love that now enveloped his wife. She loved him, but not like this. This abstract, ugly little folded thing in her arms spawned love that was deeper than he could reach, more powerful than he could charge. And he knew for a fact that this love was unbeatable, that nothing he could say to convince her to stay would work, because the infant had wrapped her up so tightly and so suddenly that it overruled any influence he had on her. She was no longer his. She was the child's.

He stood for a long time, watching the pair of them, almost an outsider, an invader in their special brand of devotion. Finally Alina grabbed hold of the child's face and seemed to focus hard. The child's stalk eyes, only now rising, fell back against her cheeks, her main eyes rolled into her head. Then Alina wrapped the sleeping infant in a blanket to block it from view and rose to her knees.

(No,) he finally said. (Stay the night at least, you just gave birth.)

(If I stay a moment longer, she will win,) she breathed, climbing heavily to her hooves and burying her face in her hands and into him. (I must leave now.)

He wrapped her in his arms and let her cry for a few moments. (I didn't believe you, Alina,) he said. (But now I do. You are my soul mate, and I will never stop loving you.)

She pulled away from him and looked up into his eyes. (And I you, Sofor.)

She kissed him one last time, with frigid hands that had once disgusted him but now defined him, and walked out of the scoop, all eyes facing forward, shaking with weakness but stubborn with strength.


	96. Chapter Thirty Four: Part Five

PART FIVE OF FIVE

He stared at the child for a long time, until the sun began to set. It was barely moving, only breathing, sprawled on the ground in a strange, weak way reserved only for the newborn or decrepit. It opened its eyes a little, and they were the slate gray of birth, but the life behind them was just like Alina's. They were perfect replicas of her mother's.

Anger and grief filled him and he opened the scoop, bringing in the bloodied sheets, cleaning up after the terrible event. The child was stirring, and he kept a stalk eye on it, still totally confused as to what he was going to do, totally terrified and averse to this responsibility.

The tail moved, disturbing the sheet, revealing the blade. Ratrona was right. Only a dull stub right now, it already curved like a male's blade. But not a male's. Shaped like a male's, but colored like a female's. It was strange. He didn't think it made her an abomination, but then again...

_You're supposed to do what you think is right._

An idea had come to him. Was it a good one? Too soon to say. He remembered a lover he had taken aboard the _GalaxySong_, a middle-aged, blue-eyed, mediocre girl who had wondered why females never entered the military.

(It's a strange convention,) he admitted, fixing her some grass tea. (Females are quicker, more agile, and would make better tail fighters if not for their stunted blades.)

(I'm fine with it,) she had said. (If girls had to fight, well, then that would mean we would have to die, too.)

It had never bothered him before, the unequal responsibility, but now he had an example, he could turn the tide of the war. It was all he knew. He couldn't raise her into a cloud artist or scientist. He didn't know anything about that. But war, he knew. War he could teach. War she could learn, she could excel at. War was what she was needed for. War could diffuse his responsibility.

He stopped himself. Alina would never allow that. Even with the tail blade, Alina would never let him put her in training camp with a bunch of arrogant, immature boys.

_You're supposed to do what you think is right._

The girl was fully awake now, watching him with the most pathetic stalk eye he had ever seen. Totally dependent. Totally in love with him.

And he smiled back.

* * *

I pulled my hand away. Gazed down at him in disbelief. Felt my hearts crack along familiar fault lines, felt the truth of his story, felt the inevitability of what was to come next.

He watched me closely, face turning chalky from blood loss. He reached up with every last shred of his strength and touched my face, and I felt something, a tingle of something in my mind, a whisper of influence that came directly from him.

(You weren't mine, but not because you were Tuxebi's or anyone else's. You are only hers,) he breathed. (She still wants you, Jennor. She still loves you.)

His hand began to slip from my face, but its objective was met. Something inside my brain had been unlocked, something that had been there all along, something unraveling like a chromosome, something that could not be remembered all coiled and tucked away. He'd done this. How? How had he—

Air. So much air. Never knew air before, never suspected this is what it would feel like.

(She's here, Alina, she's all right, she's—)

Words. A voice. Didn't know it, either, but...yes, I did. Yes, I'd heard words before. Not from this voice, but I'd heard words. I'd used them. I'd conversed.

Something rough, now, rough and dry, friction like fire on my skin, why was I here? Why couldn't I just go back to where I was, back to that dark warmth and safety, this was painful and terrifying and—

(Give her to me, Ratrona.)

There was the voice. That was the one I had conversed with.

My eyes were shut, my tail was flailing, my legs long and tangled; I was brand new and unready for it. I couldn't see, but I could hear sounds, unmuted by her flesh, I could feel air, unguarded by her skin, could taste and smell and everything was overwhelming, too much. But it was getting easier, slow but sure my senses were activating, I wasn't so cold anymore, not so wet, I was drying off, almost ready to open my eyes.

I felt her cool hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. Gasped in the first lungful of air.

(Are you sure you want—)

(Give her to me.)

Arms and fingers and fur, exchanging me, passing me from one to the other. Where was that voice? Where was the friend I had made, the soothing comfort as I grew and learned, where was she? Why had she—

(Open your eyes, Jennor-Elacable-Barees.)

I obeyed. Saw her. Saw the only thing I had ever known.

It was difficult to remember that feeling. Strange to recall the feeling of complete ignorance interrupted by primary knowledge. I hadn't known anything, and then I knew her. Couldn't remember anything before her because there was nothing real there. But now there was. Now she was here.

Her arms gripped my cold skin and stroked it, her eyes were right there, inches away, and I felt the supreme tide of relief wash over me, because I was not alone, because although I had been complete mere moments before and then had been ripped apart, now I was whole again, because she was here, and she was all that mattered.

And she was so beautiful, so perfect, everything I could have ever wanted, everything I would ever need. I was optimally happy, nothing could make this better, nothing could complete this any more.

But then she did.

She pressed her hand against my face, and lifted mine up to hers.

And then I was swept away, in the present, in the past, in every moment that occurred in between. A perfect exchange, a powerful and immutable connection that seemed to have been severed forever, now restored, now even more perfect, because I could see her, because we were together, because it was her mind and mine directly connected, more powerful than what we'd had before. And she thought, and I could see all of them, she thought such beautiful things, some just memories: her mother holding her, the fresh taste of a beautiful creek at sundown, the love of my Father as he touched her, the psychic web of peace and happiness that would connect us all if we'd only let it. But she thought other things, even more beautiful, so beautiful no words could describe them, she thought me into her heart and her into mine, she twisted the feeble little strands of our lives into something powerful and tensile and unbreakable, she reached into my mind and pulled away all the pain and distress and absorbed it for me, leaving only the pleasure and comfort, leaving only the confidence and love, purging the fear and pain and hate and giving me this perfect, untarnished, wonderful moment with her, making her part of me forever.

I don't know how long she held me like that, how long she brushed the organic material from my fur and sang to me, how long Ratrona stood and waited, how long my father paced like a fool at the base, but it felt like an eternity and now it was. She'd locked it away in my mind, she'd given me this gift and then hid it from me so I wouldn't miss it. It should have seemed cruel, but granting it had been her instinct, her love, and maybe she shouldn't have done it at all, but she did, and now I knew, now I could mourn her loss and feel the grief that maybe I'd been too young to overcome. But I felt her even now, felt that imprint of her on my hearts, and felt guilt and shame that I hadn't known about it for so long, but then washed that away, because this is what she'd wanted, and she'd let my father decide when it was time to tell me, and he had.

And I realized suddenly that even though she'd hid it, it had always been there. My neverending search for love was an attempt to replicate that first, perfect moment, and I'd failed so much, and succeeded only recently and not so flawlessly.

I swallowed all of this back down, and it felt hard and sharp, but there was still so much to do, I had to tell him it was all right, that—

I looked down at him. His eyes were half-mast. I pressed my hand to his face. Nothing behind it but silence.

He was dead.

Fear washed through me. Fear she couldn't take away. Anger just behind it. Where was I? Who had done this? Who had ripped apart my family, who had changed me from something so innocent and content to something so destructive, who had—

A stalk eye turned upward. Turned upward and saw the Empress.

Cowering like a fool. Scrambling back toward the edge of the Dome. Desperate for life when all she'd ever done was destroy it.

So much was happening. Someone beside me. (This was his. A warrior should die with his weapon strapped to his side.) I pulled the gun from its hand. I rose to my hooves.

My legs were still broken. Fortified by rage, they supported my weight. I was faint from blood loss. Aware of none of it. I stepped toward her. Cocked my weapon. Raised it to her head.

(You killed him,) I seethed, infuriated by her desperate, shifting eyes.

(Jennor, look at me. Please. You've won. You heard the announcement, the Bridge is yours. This ship is yours. I'm dead, I know this, but please listen to me—)

(You killed them both. You did it just to hurt me. You spent your life trying to figure out how to ruin me, and you have.)

(Jennor, please just listen, there's so much you need to know.)

(What?) I cried. (What could you possibly have left to tell me?)

(Jennor, I'm pregnant.)

That washed everything from my mind.

(Jesus, Jennor, please, I know I'm dead, but he doesn't have to be, please, just help Terenia take care of him, it's all I can ask of you. It's all I want from you. Yes, I will die, but let him live. Let him survive all of this hate.)

I couldn't even breathe, I was so struck with the revelation. So disgusted. She and that assistant, abusing their hosts, spawning hate, spawning death, ruining families and love, spurned by nothing but evil. A plague that had to be purged.**  
**  
She breathed rapidly, but it slowed. She laughed a little. Mocking me. (Despite everything, I can't help but wonder if any of this would have happened if I'd just left you alone.)

Her words were static in my head. Only one word emerged into my consciousness, only one objective made sense.

_No_.

I pulled the trigger.

On a good day, his gun fired just under 50% of the time. This was not a good day.

It made almost no sound, but the effect was immediate. The smell hit me before anything, burning flesh is such a sudden and unmistakable scent. I was nearly blinded from blood that had run into my eyes, but I could see her headless stump. Charred and boiled. Dead beyond recognition.

The sight of it washed everything away again. The anger that had stiffened me. The regret and sorrow from my lost past. I was just empty, tired. Dying.

I gave my stalk eye one final sweep of the Dome. Everyone was staring at me. I couldn't read their expressions and I didn't care. But I saw one familiar face.

Aximili. A prisoner of my dreams now unleashed onto reality. He looked terrified. I smiled at him.

And then everything turned white.


	97. Chapter Thirty Five: Ax

Chapter Thirty-Five

Aximili

PART ONE OF SEVEN

A searing, undulating beam ripped through the void of space, leaving a wake of quivering, cloudy atmosphere behind it. At first, it was straight and fast, traveling near the speed of light, but its journey was so long and unobstructed that it was plain to watch. It began to curve once influenced by Saturn's gravity, but the T.O. who had fired it had calculated correctly. It dove, phasing slightly, but still so powerful that it ripped through the Pool Ship, an expanding, spider-web splinter of blue energy that erupted into a concussive explosion, forcing the ship to sink like an iceberg, vomiting silent, glowing chunks of Yeerk craft slowly toward the shimmering, liquid rings.

The battle slowed, and all heads and stalk eyes turned to watch the event. Two Hork-Bajir who were choking each other gazed out of the spattered, cracked Dome. A large Andalite warrior, submerging a smaller, struggling civilian in what was left of the river, lifted him up to watch. All chins tilted toward the sky.

(Attention, all Andalites on board,) a voice came over the thought-speakers, (The Bridge is ours. Repeat, the Bridge is ours!)

Cheers from less than half of the remaining warriors. Begging and pleading from the rest.

I should have joined in. This event had delineated the sides clearly. Yeerks were despondent, Andalites ecstatic. I was fresh, charged, ready.

But she was here.

I dodged through various, slowing skirmishes. The air was heavy with the stench of sweat, blood, Yeerk sludge, and mud. It sucked me down, clouded my ability to navigate. Dead and unconscious were moaning in slick, silver piles. Few people were left standing.

(We have messaged Central Command with a priority-one distress signal,) the voice continued. (They have received and acknowledged, and have begun organization procedures to get the fleet here expediently.)

_Or so they say,_ I thought with a scoff of cynicism. I continued dodging around the Dome, until I spotted a larger skirmish still going strong—two Andalites of uncertain combat experience were surrounded, herded together by four Hork-Bajir clearly bred for combat. They were losing. I had to help.

I bounded over, making short work of the Hork-Bajir. I did not kill them. Death did not seem to be the goal of this mission. I swept my stalk eyes around the Dome again. Hork-Bajir and Andalites were dragging all the bodies away.

(Thank you,) one of the fighters heaved, covered in mud, hand on his chest. (We wouldn't have...oh, thank you.)

(It is nothing,) I said, glancing behind him, still searching.

(No, really, they're like machines, these Hork-Bajir, why doesn't the intelligence grid contain any information on how vicious—)

I was distracted, like before, so I didn't see her right away. Everyone was homogeneous, all covered in a full-body uniform of silver, blue, brown, and green excrement. Even some of the smaller Hork-Bajir were difficult to separate from Andalites. The Andalite grasping my shoulder was thanking me in a much too intimate way, but my stalk eyes kept moving, parsing through the dying action, sickly afraid of what they would find but too wired to stop looking.

(Where did you even come from? You're not all muddy, are there more reserves hiding somewhere?)

A familiar curve of flesh. I'd learned my lesson from the Dome Ship lights. Rather than allowing the frenzy of finding her guide me to frustration, I slowed myself, retraced the path of my stalk eye, and I spotted her.

She didn't even look like her anymore. Encapsulated by blood, broken, sullied, dismembered. Incomplete. Seated above some male, stroking his face with half a hand.

I felt a rush of jealousy before my brain could offer explanations. A complete stranger. A close friend. Colleague. Relative.

Father.

Every ounce of me burned to rush toward her, but I held myself back. Hork-Bajir spotted me—the only blue Andalite in the Dome—and charged. They were tired, I was experienced, it only distracted me from my goal.

Distracted me so much that I didn't see her rise to her broken hooves, didn't see her raise her father's weapon, didn't realize he was dead. I only realized she fired when a burst of light drew my eyes towards it.

Her friend dropped to the ground with a slap. I could barely take my eyes off her, but I did when I felt Jennor look at me.

She smiled.

Then she collapsed.

A cacophony of thought-speech cheers, mixed with gasps of horror, hoots and wails, but everyone stood their ground. Except me. I scrambled over, slogging through the mud, dodging past bodies and scores in the ground, grasping until I touched her flesh, until I felt the pulse of blood, the Yeerk slime, and the calm cool of her trembling skin.

I dropped to my knees, crawled and slipped over the ground, wrapped her in my arms and clutched her, cinched her deep and resonant wounds with my feeble hands, drowning in her blood, without tools, without help, without hope. I could think of nothing to do for her. I felt so utterly alone and helpless, so totally lost and surrendered, so sure these ragged breaths would be her last.

(Aximili-kala?) A voice rang out above the chaos.

I felt a stalk eye widen in recognition. It turned only out of obligation.

Before me, covered in mud, cut and sweating like a man half his age, was my father.

The rest of my eyes rose to him. I felt no sympathy for him, no joy at this reunion. I could remember nothing but the dismissive way he had treated me when I'd contacted him, how clear it was that the heartbreak from losing his elder son outweighed his relief at seeing the younger one alive. A sudden, shameful influx of spite flushed away the despair that had saturated me.

It took me a moment to realize I was glaring. A moment more to remember that she was in my arms, and she was dying.

(She needs help,) I entreated.

(That is why I am here.)

He clomped and slurped over and wrapped his tail beneath her to shift her. (What are you doing?) I asked him.

(We can't drag her to the medical bay. I'm worried enough about infection as it is. You'll need to carry her.)

(What happened here, Father?)

He turned his gaze to me with an almost animalistic intensity. (I think we have a lot to talk about, son. But we can't lose focus.)

He let me grasp his arms in support as I pulled myself to my hooves, wet, broken thing draped over my back. I curled my tail around her as a weak support, and it ached as we walked up the curving funnel of the Dome to settle into a perpendicular gravity.

He rushed ahead to prepare for surgery as I made my slow, infuriating way to sick bay. I could feel the whisper of her breath against my neck, the way it began to hiccup and slow, lungs filling with blood. I tried to hurry, but I was heavy and weak, my joints compacted and cracking. It was a like those nightmares in which you flee some unknown force, legs weighed down and heavy, like running through water. Whatever foe I was fleeing was gaining on me. I was nearly sure I was losing.

I entered the medical bay and saw my father hastily wiping mud from his lower body with his tail as a female slowly passed a sterilizing laser over his forearms and hands. She glanced up at me and I almost froze in shock.

(Noorlin, when Trylast returns, please tell him to take over scanning duty for a while. It seems the radiation is causing me to hallucinate and I can't afford that if I'm about to enter surgery.)

(Mother?)

The playful whimsy that always sparkled in her eyes fell away in disbelief. She stared at me, burning my father. Reflex snapped his hand away.

(Noorlin, is our son standing in the doorway?)

(Yes, my love.) He sounded annoyed, but I was too overcome to care.

She stared at me for a long time, face continuing along some path of recognition. Shock, elation, fury, and finally catharsis when I saw the familiar blue trauma of tears crawl up her face.

(Aximili?)

I stepped over cautiously, knees buckling either from weight or heartache, I wasn't sure. I loosened my tail and dumped Jennor on the exam gurney as my father positioned her correctly. My mother continued to stare, and though the weight was off my back, I did not feel any lighter.

We stood our ground, watching each other, as my father scrambled around to prep Jennor for surgery. All stress and memory of the last three days of my life fell away, and I was left with pleasant sunlight on my skin, warm hands on my face assuring me that hard work and reward are directly correlated. The child in me could have run over and wrapped her in my arms, but the warrior stood his ground.

(Forlay, we have to—)

(Yes,) she hissed, swiveling a hard stalk eye to my father. (I know. Aximili, we could use your help, as it appears this will take every finger that can be spared.)

(What should I do?)

(She needs a transfusion.)

(Right,) I said, rushing past them, keeping one stalk eye on the dead and swinging arm hanging off the table, and the other on my mother who continued to smile back.

(Where are the reserves? I didn't have any shifts in sick bay when I was on the _GalaxyTree_, I don't know where—)

(We don't have any, but it's all right,) my mother said, hastily wiping bloody mud from Jennor's skin, disinfecting and suturing any superficial cuts she could find. (You can perform the transfusion yourself.)

I breathed in deeply, attempting to overcome the sureness of failure washing over me. (All right, this I can do.) I headed over to one of the trays my mother had prepared, pulled up a syringe, checked the gauge of the needle, and tied a plastic tube around my arm to make the veins grow.

(Aximili,) she whispered to me, (You're forgetting something.)

(I realize that arm veins are not ideal, but I don't feel that we have the time to—)

(What's her blood type?)

(I...I don't know,) I admitted.

(You could kill her, trying to help her too fast.)

I flinched my tail in frustration. (Then what am I supposed to do?)

(Make sure your blood type matches hers.)

(There's no time for your playful riddles, Mother, I—)

(Morph her, my love.)

I turned my eyes to her and stared in disbelief. (I can't do that!)

(Permission would be advisable, yes, but it's not something she can give, so you'll have to settle for forgiveness. If you can think of an alternative, so be it, but I can't, and you know how fast I think.)

I gripped the syringe in my hand and stared at the girl, still swinging off of the table as my father continued to wipe and sterilize, my mother continued to suture. She cinched off some of her bigger cuts, the ones that would require surgery to fully close. I couldn't move. Couldn't accept the task that I'd just been assigned.

(I don't think I can,) I breathed.

(Why? Because she's Hermilian? Because you're afraid of what you might learn? What about learning that she died because you were too indecisive to act?)

(Father, please, I—)

My mother pulled her hands away from her work and looked at me. (If you're not going to do this, tell us now so we can save our energy and catch up sooner.)

I sighed, looking down again at the syringe, and headed over to the exam table. My parents concentrated on the lacerations to her large arteries in her hind section, so I moved to her front, kneeling before her and touching her mangled face. Her eyes were open, but unfocused and loose. I acquired her. She gasped when I finished.

Both my parents were watching me now. I closed my eyes and began to morph.

I'd never morphed another Andalite before. It was not something I had ever planned to do. The morph itself did not take very long, since my body did not require vast restructuring, and even during the process itself, it was hard to tell what had changed. I felt myself shrink a few inches, felt my hooves narrow, my stalk eyes lengthen and thin. I could not feel the change from male to female, but I did recognize the difference once it settled in. And then, at the end, after everything, my hands grew cold.

It was like walking into a house where a home-cooked meal is being prepared. Not overwhelming, but jarringly different, almost unpleasant. Like the potent smell of rich food, I was aware of a new element in the atmosphere, transcribed with some new sense, some new part of my brain that read it, translating it into sound and thought and sight. I glanced at my mother. Focused equally on her task and keeping her stalk eye off of me. Whenever she slipped, I felt spikes of elation and despair, distracting her from her work. And as my father worked on charting Jennor's remaining injuries, he filled with a determined sort of hopelessness.

I tried to turn it off, finding it impossible. I hummed, trying to keep it out, I looked away, I moved, I put my hands on my temples but nothing could expel it. They both were watching me now, and I knew that without looking at them.

(What are you waiting for?) My mother asked. I glanced at her, now seeing a desperation, a growing anxiety mounting into certainty.

I pulled the plastic tube around my arm and yanked it tight. Blood flowed into my dammed veins. Holding the syringe with a trembling, freezing hand, I eased it into a vein, wincing as I did, quickly unraveling the tube, attaching it to the syringe, cold hard stress gripping my abdomen as my Father came over and completed the link.

I stood above her as blood flowed out of me and into her, watching her with her own eyes, watching my parents. Though one of my arms was incapacitated, I helped organize and deliver tools they requested, growing full of fear as the tools became more complicated and desperate. Jennor was settling. I was growing weak and light-headed, but adrenaline continued to pulse through me as my parents became frantic.

(Yes, you see that, Noorlin? Her proximal arterial conjunction was severely lacerated, right there, clamp it shut while I work on her pre-dorsal spinal column.)

(I can't do that until I close off this burn to her brachial arteries, she's hemorrhaging everywhere!)

(All right, there's no need to panic.)

(Isn't there?) I asked calmly.

They each spared one stalk eye, turned it up, and looked at me. Both were filled with pity.


	98. Chapter Thirty Five: Part Two

PART TWO OF SEVEN

They continued to work in silence for some time, each engaged with separate emergencies, and I helped when requested. Mostly, however, I watched the dying face below me. Her eyes were still open a little, though her consciousness had left her long ago. I don't know why, but I felt some sudden compulsion to touch her, to read her, to understand her on a deeper, now possible level, and I slowly reached my free arm toward her face, preparing to do what she'd done to me, and then—

(How's she doing?) A voice rang in from the doorway. My stalk eyes snapped around, and standing there was a mildly injured, gruff-looking warrior whose entire upper body and a section of his lower body were hairless.

I assumed my parents said something to him privately because his reaction was disappointed and annoyed.

(What do you need, Trylast?) My father asked.

(I can see you both are occupied, never mind.) His eyes turned to me.

(What is the status of the infested?) My father asked.

(A few are still giving us trouble, but we've got them cornered. Many surrendered, but the majority of them are unconscious, bound, and contained within a series of quarters we're using as a prison bloc. Dorothen has us guarding them, making sure they stay unconscious, but we haven't won yet. Shooting people is much less reliable than sedating them, and many of them keep waking up.)

(You need more help,) my mother surmised. She looked at me.

(I'm not leaving,) I said.

(Believe it or not, Aximili, I think we have this under control now.) I felt some shameful sense of heat come from her, and she winced, forgetting for a moment that I could tell she was lying.

(You're not doing any good here right now,) Father said. (Go help Trylast, and we'll come get you if we need your assistance.)

(You mean you'll leave Jennor and get me yourself?)

(We have this handled, son. Go be the warrior you always wanted to be,) Mother said. I wouldn't have detected it in my normal form, but there was a breeze of disdain behind her statement. My father removed the tube from Jennor's vein, leaving in the needle, and promptly filled up a Zero Space transponder of spare blood, almost taking it all, before allowing me to demorph.

Too overwhelmed to question it, I followed the warrior out into the hallway, so many images bouncing around my forebrain, fighting for dominance. My father, broken, heaving, full of inarticulate emotions like shame mixed with an insufficient amount of relief; my mother, just as I'd left her, but filled now with the three and a half years of resentment; and Jennor. Deader than I could have predicted. And when she wasn't, when she was still standing, there'd been such evidence of some horrible change, some black element that I couldn't name or pinpoint. Everything was different, and yet, it was all the same.

(Did you hear what I said?) The warrior asked me. I glanced at him.

(No,) I sighed.

(I don't know how you got out of fighting, but since you're mostly clean they're going to clamber all over you. We're short-staffed and it's absolutely imperative that we get this right. Three days of this, and then we're in the clear.)

(What about Visser Three?)

(What?)

(You destroyed this other Pool Ship, but that's not the only Yeerk presence in this system.)

(Well...great. You can inform Dorothen when we get down there. He sort of took point on this.)

We walked into the Captain's quarters sometime later. Most of the personal items within had been destroyed or desecrated in some way, but some of them were still undisturbed. Chains in the corner of the room, other torture implements speckled around. It reminded me of Visser Three's collection, but his were purely decorative. I got the distinct feeling these had been used.

There were a few Andalites within the room. Two were cleaning up the remaining personal items, and three others were talking together, quiet and stressed, tails high in the air, snapping forward in disagreement every few seconds. One of them, a middle-aged man moderately injured, looked up at me.

(Trylast,) he said slowly. (Who is that?)

(I found him in sick bay. Brought him down—)

(He wasn't on the ship!)

I felt Trylast's blade against my throat instantaneously and sighed. Thought had stopped moving through my head. I was overloaded. I only knew to stay still and hope they would have patience to wait until I could reboot.

He marched over, inspecting me slowly. (He wasn't on the ship. He won't be in the manifest.)

(I believe you, Dorothen,) spat Trylast. (That's why my tail blade is against his throat.)

(Who are you?) He asked.

(Aristh Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.)

His eyes narrowed. (You were in sick bay. With your parents.)

(Yes.)

He glanced at Trylast, but didn't wave him off.

(How did you get here?)

(My Bug Fighter is docked at the emergency docking bay.)

(Bug Fighter?) Trylast cried.

(You're not helping your case much here, son.)

I stared straight ahead for a while, out the window. Debris from the Pool ship had begun colliding with Saturn's rings. They scattered like pond water, rippling so slowly they were almost still, like clouds on a windy day.

(I am from Earth,) I finally said, turning my main eyes to Dorothen, keeping a stalk eye on Trylast and the other on the door. (Intelligence I received pointed me here. I stole a Bug Fighter from Visser Three's underground Yeerk Pool. I would have come before the main battle but I was waiting for docking clearance and an opportunity to dock came when you cut power.)

Dorothen's eyes narrowed. He waved off Trylast's blade.

(Go get a cranial scanner,) he told him. He kept staring at me. (What intelligence did you receive?)

(One of the Andalite-Controllers came to Earth. I scouted him without being detected.)

(And how did that bring you here?)

I paused, searching for the most concise and plausible explanation. Should I tell him about the Chee, who'd filled in the gaps? Should I tell him about the Animorphs, who'd helped me procure the Bug Fighter? Who was this man, and why was he even in charge? There were so many variables floating around with consequences I could not see or understand, so much about this situation that could potentially harm me. I closed my eyes and looked down.

(Scan me,) I offered. (I'm not infested, and I'm willing to help. You're wasting time interrogating me.)

(If I let you go, I give you a three-day pass to formulate a convincing set of lies,) he said.

(I believe that is a risk you must take.)

Trylast returned with a cranial scanner and pressed it against my _tria_ gland. (He's clean,) he reported.

(Fine. Trylast, give him block Epsilon three through five.)

(Okay.)

(Wait,) I said. (Was this ship in contact with the Yeerks on Earth at all?)

Dorothen blinked at me. (I don't know. Jennor didn't get a chance to free any first-shift communications officers.)

I felt a swell of something heavy and warm in my chest. (You may want to message them. Or not,) I sighed, thinking. (No. Don't. They may message you if they discover they've lost contact with the Pool Ship. You must assure them that everything is all right.)

He stared at me for a long time. (This will cause problems,) he surmised. (We should destroy the threat on Earth before they even know we're capable of doing so.)

I felt my stalk eyes brush against the ceiling of my expertise. This was tactical simulation. I hadn't done particularly well at tactical simulations. The Yeerks on Earth were strong. They'd already destroyed a Dome Ship manned with some of the best warriors Andal had crafted. Would this one be any different?

(We should get to our hooves first,) Trylast said. (More than half the ship is still infested. And most of them aren't military. Are you sure a direct assault on Earth is a battle we can win?)

Dorothen watched me closely. (What do you think, son? You're the expert on Earth.)

(There is a large Yeerk force there, so it will take time for them to organize. But Trylast is right, this isn't a battle we can fight now. We need all the manpower we can get. We have to buy three days. If we can keep the events here secret for the three days it takes to purge all of the Yeerks, then we may have a chance.)

(Send an ambassador to Earth. That assistant of hers. He went there a lot, didn't he?)

(Vaxidun is dead,) Dorothen said. (Didn't you say his first deputy was still alive?)

(Yes, but still infested.)

(See if you can't convince him to come out early.)

(How am I supposed to—)

(A painless death as opposed to Kandrona starvation? Eighteen Yeerks have already volunteered it,) he said. (Just use your winning charm, Trylast.)

Trylast scoffed and left the quarters.

(As for you,) he said, passing his eyes over me again, (Epsilon three through eight. I was going to have Trylast keep an eye on you, but I think you're trustworthy.)

(Thank you, sir,) I said.

(Oh no, not sir,) he said. (I gave up "sir" a long time ago.)

Epsilon three through eight were a series of five quarters, each containing two Andalites, bound and unconscious. Ordering me to keep them that way, Dorothen gave me a Dracon Beam and told me to use it as liberally as required. I patrolled the small section of corridor quietly, prickly and electric from panic and apprehension. I'd remember my mission, then I'd remember the upcoming battle, then the one that had just passed, then the consequences and prices from that one, the likely consequences and prices of the upcoming one, and then her.

That final look before she collapsed.

That smile.

A loud, blunt sound against the door of Epsilon six. I cocked my weapon and opened it.

One of the Controllers within had freed his hoof and was flailing it with all his strength, trying to rise up though his back legs were still bound. I pointed my weapon at him.

(You don't know the hell that faces you,) he said, laughing. (You don't know how terrible your life is about to become.)

I stepped forward in curiosity, considering for a moment leaving him awake to learn more, but then he laughed and threw his hoof at me, cutting a gash deep into my chest, and I subdued him.

The ship grew quiet after a few hours, filled with a deadly sort of dread that floated and hung in the air like a heavy mist. My Yeerks were quiet. I gazed back and forth at the guards standing before and behind me. All of them still covered in their battle wounds. No one had even had a chance to morph. Maybe they'd chosen not to. Maybe they were still filled with the pointless, cumbersome pride from refusing the benefits of Escafil's technology. I sighed, looking down at my own wound, realizing I was guilty of the same, whatever the reason was.

Some time later, while I was listening inside of each of the quarters under my watch, my father returned to me.

Overwhelmed, exhausted, confused, terrified, and lonely, I nearly burst into tears when I saw the look on his face. He put a hand on my shoulder, then tentatively dipped his tail forward to touch my blade with his. A terrible, foreign gesture for him. I could not accept what it meant.

(Are you all right, my son?) He asked.

(She's dead,) I said, eyes still dry, but only because they were solid like concrete.

He pulled his tail away but kept his hand on my shoulder.

(Not yet,) he said. (You may be able to save her.)

He assigned the adjacent Andalites to keep an eye on my quarters and walked with me back to sick bay. (Your mother and I have done everything we can for her,) he said. (We had to dump almost the entire replacement volume of blood into her, but the hemorrhaging has stopped and she's conscious. That last part is only because of the copious amount of drugs we injected. Enough to kill her, and that would have been a crime if she wasn't already going to die.)

(What are you saying?)

We stopped outside of sick bay and my father faced me. His face was still spattered with little bits of silver mud, and now that I saw him close, I could see its gauntness, the electric, animalistic wariness behind his eyes. He'd been hurt. I didn't know how, but he wasn't the same man I had left on Andal.

(She needs to morph. It's the only way she'll survive.)

I understood. The last thing I ever wanted to do after a long battle was morph. After devoting every shred of energy and commitment to survival, morphing to heal injuries is about as desirable as running up three flights of stairs or swimming through a hurricane. I doubt Jennor felt any differently.

(She won't do it,) I surmised.

(I tried to explain it to her. Your mother tried to coax her into trust, but she wouldn't have any of it. The drugs are mixing strangely. She thinks she's dreaming.)

(You think I can convince her?)

(I think you're her last chance.)

I turned a stalk eye back down the hallway. In three days' time, all the Yeerks would be dead. The mission would be accomplished. But there was still such a terrible sense of uncertainty in the air, so much paranoia and pessimism.

_We may all be dead in three days.  
_  
(If she dies, it's my fault,) I stated bluntly.

My father's eyes filled with fury and he grabbed my head by the ears, pulling my face so it was inches from his. (No, Aximili,) he growled. (Do not think that. If she dies, it was because she sacrificed herself for the benefit of us all. Do not think yourself so great as to accept responsibility for her death. I promise that if you do, you'll fall into a vortex that you cannot emerge from. If you do, you'll drown forever in your guilt and regret. Do you understand?)

I looked behind his eyes, behind the wariness and weariness, back to before the _NovaBlade_. Back to that terrible call I had made.

(Let me see her.)


	99. Chapter Thirty Five: Part Three

PART THREE OF SEVEN

He let go of my face and opened the door. My mother was standing before a pair of warriors, closing their wounds. She was trembling as she did so.

(Do it fast,) she said. (There are others aboard that require our attention.)

I nodded at her and headed back to a small area that had been fenced off with energy curtains. I walked through and felt the warm pricks of sterilization course down my body.

Within the middle of the makeshift room was the same gurney I had placed her on, now sticky and dripping with blue blood. A long IV tube, connected to a suspended solution that shimmered purple, swung above her front leg. Her arm and tail spilled toward the ground, and she was waving her tail slowly back and forth in a rhythm, tapping her blade on the ground at each crest.

I held my breath and walked toward her. Her stalk eyes were hanging down her face like wet clumps of hair. I moved in front of her and knelt so that our faces were at the same level, hers rotated 90 degrees counterclockwise from mine.

(Oh,) she sighed. Her mellifluous voice brought a flush of feeling and memory back through me. I felt the reality of the stakes, the weight of knowing that I'd probably lose. (You're back.)

(I'm here,) I corrected, reaching for her hand before realizing her arm was without it, covered in a bandage net and gauze. I touched her forearm instead. It was just as cold as it was when she'd left.

(I was beginning to doubt, but now I'm sure,) she said with a smile, moving her hand toward my face. (Your father tried to convince me I wasn't dreaming, but I am.)

A shiver of nauseated fear. I swallowed it away. (You're not dreaming, Jennor.)

(I am, and thank Elder,) she said with a hazy laugh. (The fact that you're here proves it was all just a dream. That it has been all along. My father's not dead, Terenia's not dead, I'm not dying, I'm just asleep. It's unusual, though. When I'm asleep and I realize I'm dreaming, I usually wake up.)

Spikes in my shins and shoulders, claws through my face. How could I contradict that?

(You're not dreaming, Jennor,) I repeated. (I'm really here.)

Her hand, a soaked, mummified, mutilated thing with only three fingers and a thumb hovered millimeters from my face. I pressed my hand on top of it and moved it against my cheek. Even through the bandages, I felt coolness. As disgusted as I was, I wanted her to read me. I had to show her I was telling the truth.

(See?) I offered, trying to remember everything that had happened in her six-month absence, trying to filter the thoughts of despair and longing and resentment, knowing how futile it was. (That's all me. That's all real.)

Her eyes narrowed, and her stalk eyes attempted to rise, but they fell back against her cheeks. (Nothing I couldn't imagine,) she said. (No, this is a dream. A very good one, but still just a dream.)

(Jennor, if you don't morph now, you'll die. I'm really here, and I'm telling the truth.)

(Haven't you ever died in a dream before? You don't die, you just wake up.)

I felt despair rise up inside of me like stomach acid, seasoned with panic and fear and the impending reality of life without her. I removed my hand from hers and touched her sticky face, her stiff neck, the sutured wounds on her chest and abdomen, moving down until my hand was against her primary heart. I gripped her sticky fur tightly and encouraged it to keep going. I pressed my other hand against her face, despite how mangled it was. I tried to conjure the tenderness and passion that could only come from another person and not the depths of the subconscious.

I breathed again, not knowing how to continue, and felt a sense of déjà vu. A screaming invitation from the past to draw me away from this terrible present. I accepted. She'd been lying sideways, like she was now. My hand had reached downward, settling inside that warm, flush crevice; her fingertips had grazed my cheek. Yes, this was not unlike the challenge. The game.

_That is my favorite part of you._

Looking back, I realized I should have given it up earlier. Surrender wouldn't have meant I'd lost. But I had been overcome with some stoic tenacity, a resolve to win the game, even though losing it would have been far more enjoyable. Winning had seemed to be everything, and my tunnel-visioned quest for it proved quite effective.

I stared at her in my memory, feeling none of the shame from watching someone for so long, none of the embarrassment of needing her, because she stared and needed me back.

And then everything changed.

I could think of no other explanation than the fact that our current positions were so close to the positions we took during the game. After all, that is what inspired the memory in me. But it became suddenly and powerfully clear that it inspired the same memory in her.

We were both reliving the same event simultaneously, recalling that potent memory that had affected us, intertwined us, changed us. But now, linked by the psychic bond she made, connected by the reviled and undeniable powers of her race, we were reliving that event together, through both sets of perceptions.

I could see her in my memory, and I could see myself in hers.

It gripped me, sudden and rough, lovely and violent. It disoriented me at first. It was like I'd been lifted and shaken up, mixed with something strange and foreign, but the solution began to settle and I could separate its components. I could understand what had happened.

I could see her, through my eyes, and I could see myself through hers.

We were off the ship, out of sickbay, out of danger, back on Earth. The forest churned around us meaninglessly, the sun shone overhead with inconsequential light. She felt it at the nape of her neck, the back of her calves. Patches of it streamed through the trees, and it felt like warm kisses from a gentle lover. Knots twisted inside of her, not from hunger or fear, not from something unpleasant. They roared and screamed within her like an ocean squall. She was shaking with energy. Trembling with impatience.

My action had been unexpected. It had surprised her. She'd been hoping for something like it, something a little more ambitious, perhaps, but in a way, this was even better, because sometimes the build up was more fun than the release.

I had been quiet, even, and calm, but she hadn't been at all. I'd lifted her roughly and pressed her into the back of the couch, and her insides screamed and then whined, gnawing at her for attention. I hadn't known how viciously I'd affected her. Her thigh felt my hand, and it was cold against that skin normally so tucked away and untouched. I could feel the gushes of desire running from behind her pelvis, the pulsing, swollen bundle of nerves at the vertex of her legs, the interrupted, quiet breath in her lungs, the flush of heat in her face, and the hammering organ in her chest.

And my hand touched her thigh. I could feel the squirming muscles, but I hadn't known I'd made it so intense. I had no idea how powerful my influence was. I applied pressure just to unsettle her, as part of the game, but now I knew it wasn't unsettling, it was exhilarating, and even though I thought I'd been winning, she was winning too, but only because the game she was playing operated under an entirely different set of rules.

I was no longer in the present with her. We were only in the past, revolving and mixing like two liquids, meshing together, understanding the other's thoughts and emotions and motivations in that one, endless moment in the scoop.

I continued to search within her, past the physical memory. I dove within her heart and mind. I felt her comfort and trust, but there was fear, too, so much fear, because there was still so much about me that she didn't know. She hadn't read me yet, and she wished she could, because that would quell all of her fears and make me unthreatening and predictable. Yet, in another way, she preferred me mysterious. Scarier, yes, but much more exhilarating.

And I couldn't feel it as potently, but she was there in my mind, too, reliving my thoughts and emotions in that moment. My relief at not being so alone anymore. The contentment I'd felt knowing that not all Andalites had been corrupted by the war, that some were just victims with honorable motivations, that some were still worthy of trust and respect. She knew my determination, and saw what drove it: the overwhelming need for her to understand, seeing what I meant by showing her how much she did, coupled with the shallow competitiveness to win this stupid game. I felt her smile in my mind, and I knew why she did, and I smiled back, and she knew why I did.

Reviewing this memory through two perspectives was like developing some new sense entirely. Two levels of understanding made it thousands of times more complex. Two sets of eyes viewed hundreds of different angles, twice as many nerve endings became infinitely more sensitive. Her thigh, my hand, separated only by microscopic distances caused by atomic forces. I could feel those electrons, sense the atoms exchanging them. Even touching her like this, she and I were connected. Although we were separate, we were melding together in a tiny, infinitesimal way.

I don't know how long this continued. I don't know how long she read me, but soon the strange conjugality climaxed, and the mixture reacted—no longer two separate, chemically independent substances. Now they'd combined. Now there was one product different from the two inputs. Now we were a unit. Was it better? Was it solid, useful, valuable? Was it volatile? Was it permanent? I didn't know. I only knew there was an echo of her inside of me, and one of me inside of her. A part of me understood completely, and another part was scared and confused. What had we just done?

My eyes snapped open. She pulled her hand away and it ended.

My hand was still against her heart. I snatched it back, but I could still feel it beating inside of her chest.

Her eyes were wide open now. Awake. I inhaled sharply.

(What was that?) I asked her.

(I don't know,) she admitted.

Confusion. Mine and hers. Bordering on panic.

(It was real, though,) I blurted out, suddenly remembering my goal and how this affected it. (You couldn't have imagined that, could you?)

Her eyes were frantic, alert, considering. She lifted her good stalk eye and gazed at me curiously.

(Aximili?)

I clutched her half-hand in both of mine and squeezed it as tightly as my weak arms would allow, not caring if I was hurting her because I could feel echoes of her pain in my hand. (Yes, Jennor.)

She stared at me for a long time, eyes still darting, but then they settled into acceptance and consciousness.

(I can't,) she whispered.

(Yes, you can. You must.)

(I'm so tired.)

(I know, but after this you can sleep for as long as you want. Days, weeks, I don't care. I'll be right here when you wake up.)

(It's too difficult.)

(Sometimes the best things are the hardest to attain,) I said, still clutching her hand, feeling the throbbing pain for and with her.

(It all really happened,) she said slowly.

I moved a hand to her face. (Yes,) I responded. Her eyes buckled into tears and I stroked her cheek, not knowing what to say, hoping only that she could see my desperation and love and that would be enough to convince her.

I felt her remaining fingers wrap around my hand. And she began to change.

It was a slow morph, and I was afraid that she wouldn't finish before the exhaustion overtook her, but I gave her every bit of strength I could spare. I watched as her wounds shrank and closed, but some were deep and wouldn't change all of the way until she was done. I felt one extra nub emerge from her hand, a finger blossoming slowly out of it. Gauze and bandage fell away as the other hand pushed through her arm. Her tail withered and receded, her legs drew back like extendable toy swords, her mouth became a dissolving line in her face, and her nose appeared like a two-dimensional elevation map slowly growing outward.

It took almost eight minutes, but when I was assured, I let go and pulled away.

For a moment, I was sure that she had acquired some new human morph while on the Dome Ship. Slow investigation revealed the horrible truth. Almost hairless, so thin, so pale. Like the ash leftover after a forest fire. What was once made of iron and brick had disintegrated into glass and tissue. A brittle, weak, naked thing I was too afraid to touch. I stood up and gazed down at her for a long time, disgusted, not at her, but at myself, for allowing her to leave without help. For giving up on her so easily.

My mother had lain out some thermal blankets. I looked up, seeing there was a clean gurney in the area. I spread a blanket down, making a hard, uncomfortable, cold bed. Like before, I settled beside her and draped her over my back.

I'd carried her across my back before and had been surprised by her weight. I was surprised again. I laid her down, lay blankets over her, knowing how cold it would be to her weak form, needing her to be comfortable, just for my own sake, even though the morph seemed to have severed our connection.

I stared at her for a long time. Her eyes hadn't closed all of the way. I stroked her cheek, then her nose. That was the only thing that still looked the same.

She would need rest. But she was all right.

I noticed her hands. I grabbed one carefully and inspected it. The tips of her fingers were dark and colder than the rest of her.

I turned around and marched through the energy curtains, the zap of sterilization surprising me. Mother was just ushering away another patient as I tried to move past her.

(Is she all right?) She asked me, pressing her hand into my wounded chest to stop me.

(I didn't even recognize her,) I said, shaking my head. (She looked so different...what happened here?)

My mother sighed and gently inspected my cut. (A revolution, Aximili. With casualties.)

She kept one hand against my chest and reached for her disinfecting agent and dermal regenerator, already covered in sticky blue fingerprints. She clicked it on and moved it over my chest. I continued to shake my head, completely unnerved and unsatisfied by her vague answer.

(Her hands are still blue,) I whispered, frustrated enough by the overall problem to focus on a smaller one that was easier to address.

(What?)

(Her fingertips, she didn't complete the morph!) My mother ignored me, passing the dermal regenerator over superficial wounds in my chest after disinfecting it. I brushed her hand away and attempted to move past her once again.

(Let me do this, Aximili.)

(Mother, did you hear me? She's still in danger!)


	100. Chapter Thirty Five: Part Four

PART FOUR OF SEVEN

She grabbed my hand, caressing it slowly, shifting the regenerator to the pit of her elbow. (Is that the only part of her unchanged?)

(Yes.)

(You're being unreasonable and you know it.) She lifted the regenerator as I pushed past her again.

(Mother, please—)

(No,) she said sharply, with more force than I had ever heard before. She pushed me back again, and I obeyed, not sure what she was doing but too afraid to contradict. She stared at me for a few moments, eyes quivering, fingers stiff and painful against my torn pectorals. Finally she stretched her stalk eyes in a gesture of impatience and continued to work on my ventral scab.

(I suppose I should be pleased,) she said as she passed the regenerator over my chest, causing a faint itching sensation. (Elfangor died before falling in love. At least you get that.)

I gazed at her for a moment, surprised by her statement. There had never been talk of wives and mates, even when Elfangor was alive. I'd assumed it was a taboo subject we weren't allowed to discuss. After considering it for a moment, I realized it was probably Elfangor himself who had constructed the taboo. He had found love, just not with someone he could share with my family. I knew I should tell her, but I was unable to conjure the mettle and possibly surrender my _shorm_. I didn't know how my parents would view the existence of Tobias. And I certainly did not wish to inform them about him without his permission.

But they deserved to know, didn't they?

I shook my head slowly as my mother continued to suture my wound. I was overwhelmed with everything—the infestation of my people, the losses they had suffered, the unexplained presence of my parents, how close Jennor had come to death...I felt the urge to stream past her again and grieve in private but she sensed it before I could move.

She pulled the regenerator away and pressed her free, stained hand against my cheek. (What have they done to you, my Aximili?)

The warrior in me gave one final quiver of struggle, but the child in me won. I wrapped my arms around her and collapsed as I'd used to, before I'd become a warrior, before grief and weakness were shameful, when I'd needed her more than anything. She released the regenerator and put her hand on the back of my neck, like she'd used to, though now she had to reach up rather than down.

(Curse that brother of yours,) she said, voice thick with emotion. (I could have convinced you to stay if not for him. I could have shown you that fame and glory come at a vast price. I could have persuaded you that mediocrity is not shameful, that normal, civilian life can be even more fulfilling than military renown. I could have kept you safe at home, redeeming my mistake to let him go, if he hadn't gone and become wildly successful. I could have saved you all of this, Aximili, if not for War-Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul.)

I knew she didn't mean it, but I didn't rebuke her. I let her hold my neck and kiss my face. I did not cry, though the grief from losing my brother had been unsealed. I held her until my father returned, forcing me to pull away in shame.

(They need you back on guard duty,) Father informed me slowly, delivering a message that he clearly didn't want to.

(I should go, then,) I said, refusing to make eye contact with him.

(Stop it, both of you. We have a moment now, let's use it.)

My father and I both turned to her. (For what?) He asked.

(It's time for you to tell Aximili all the things you wish you would have when he called.)

He turned a stalk eye to me, and I glanced away. (I...Forlay, this isn't really the time—)

(Yes, it is.)

He sighed and looked at me again. (I'm sorry, Aximili. I was overwhelmed.)

(Is that it?) My mother asked.

(How would you expect me to act when I just discovered your brother had died?)

(Noorlin, you're always so eloquent when you practice on me, and now you're getting defensive and—)

Their arguing continued. I sighed. Surprising how immediately the rhythms of a family can be reawakened. I was uninterested. There were more important things going on than petty apologies and pointless bickering.

I decided intervention was in order. Tobias would have to forgive me.

(You have a grandson,) I said to them both. They paused and gazed up at me, both in different mixtures of shock, fury, and confusion.

It stopped the argument. Neither of them seemed to know what to say, how to verify. What I even meant. My mother took a step back, reviewing the information, but my father took a step forward, his theory already formed.

(How long have you even known this girl?) He seethed, turning on me, letting the fury overtake the shock. (And without our permission! It's as if you have no regard left for Andalite law, I'd be willing to bet that—)

(Elfangor,) my mother whispered, raising her hands to her chin in a steeple, smiling now, the polar opposite of my father's reaction. He slipped back into shock and confusion. I bowed my stalk eyes to her, verifying her assessment.

(Elfangor?) He asked. (What are you talking about?)

My mother walked slowly toward me, pressing her hands against my chest again, over the dried blood. (You know him,) she said to me, ignoring my father. (He is not Andalite.)

I looked away. (I don't know if he wants to meet you.)

She nodded. (We'll respect that, if that is the case. Won't we, Noorlin?)

My father was still confused. (What do you mean, he's not Andalite?)

(Those years were hard on your father,) she said to me. (Forgive him if he can't remember. You were just a colt, you probably don't remember either.)

(I remember,) I said.

(You're suggesting Elfangor fled to some primitive planet and...procreated?)

(I'm suggesting that perhaps your son was not as perfect as you believe,) she said. (And that shame is not the proper response. We should celebrate his flaws, not vilify them.)

My father still looked confused, but he no longer denied it.

(You have a grandson, Noorlin. Don't look so upset about it.)

(He is on Earth?) My father asked.

I nodded. He didn't understand, so I said, (Yes. I cohabit with him.)

(Is...is he like his father?)

I considered this for a moment. (He is like himself,) I said. (I will contact him and inform him of your presence. I would like you to meet him. I hope he is not averse to the idea.)

My father had gone pale, but my mother was still beaming. She kissed me again as Trylast came in the medical bay.

(Oh, my apologies, Noorlin. Excuse me for interrupting a family reunion when, you know, lives are at stake.)

(What do you need, Trylast?)

(It's been over six hours since we bound most of the hosts.)

(Ah.)

(So you haven't been too distracted to remember our suffering during the past six months. Good to know.)

My mother released my face, turned around, and headed toward another cabinet. (How much do we need?)

(There are a little less than two hundred hosts, so...)

(We'll need to manufacture more. Feed the injured and infirm first. What are we doing about the Hork-Bajir?)

(Their metabolism is much slower than ours. Let's deal with this crisis before worrying about them,) my Father said.

So many tasks to accomplish. So much that needed to get done. I stood around, inept and ineffectual, as the three of them gathered what emergency rations they had in store. Mother and Trylast took what we had and headed to the prison bloc. My father took me to the store room for more bales of dehydrated grass.

We each carried one back to the medical bay in relative silence. Quiet shivers of thought-speech entreated me from within many of the quarters, some vocalized whining and sobbing from the rest. My father looked back at me with a stalk eye.

(You look troubled, Aximili.)

(Troubled? Me? Whatever gave you that idea?) I said, accidentally dropping the bale. I bent down to scoop it back up.

My father put his down and headed back towards me. (I suppose I forget your perspective,) he said. (Your mother is better at that. She understood right away.)

(No,) I said, feeling heat in my face, weight in my chest. (She couldn't explain.)

(Explain what?)

(What happened here, Father? What is this ship? Who are all of these people? Why are the Yeerks here? Why was Jennor's father here, why are you here? Why was her friend infested, and by the Empress? I don't understand any of it!)

(I don't understand all of it either, son. I can tell you what I know.)

(That is all I want.)

He continued his trek to the medical bay as he began. He explained exactly what had happened after I'd contacted him—wracked by guilt, undone by grief, he spent the larger part of a month entirely inconsolable. Mother did what she could, though she was mourning Elfangor too, but she could not support their medical practice on her own. Before long, his grief turned to rage, his guilt to motive. He'd lost his hero, yes, but he still had one son left, and he'd get him back, with or without the help of the military.

He began speaking in public. His connection to Elfangor gave him influence to form crowds, his passion and honesty the power to inspire them. Small groups at first, parents who had also lost their sons, wives who'd lost husbands, sisters who'd lost brothers. They were everywhere. The war was a powerful phage, and worse was the fact that the galaxy was a large place, and even faster than light, news traveled slowly. Were those brothers, husbands, and sons dead, or just missing? The _GalaxyTree_ had been destroyed, but I was alive. Perhaps others were as well.

He had interest and support. The intelligence grid published a story about his efforts. It was then that Isstarim, an infamous playboy who'd tripled his inherited fortune in weapons manufacture at the beginning of the war, became involved. If my father was the voice of the operation, calling grief-stricken Andalites together, Isstarim was its legs. He purchased a Dome Ship. An entire Dome Ship, a commodity previously thought to be invaluable. The military was not pleased, but the public had spoken. If they didn't allow this venture, support for the war would decline, and a few charitable, intelligent military officers whom my father had worked closely with supported and sponsored the mission. They even sent some military chaperones to ensure the mission's protection against the Yeerks. Of course, even the military could not have predicted what happened.

The Yeerks' plan was efficient and monstrously exploitative. There was nothing they could have done. So the mission that should have been an asset to the hope and morale of the war became a liability to the survival of all Andalites and free species everywhere. Led by the Empress herself, the clear perpetrator of the successful infiltration of Andal, the Dome Ship became property of the Yeerks, and all of the Andalites within became their slaves.

Except for my father, Isstarim, and Trylast. Three uninfestable Andalites. The only hope for the continuation of the war instead of its loss.

(Then the girl came,) my father continued as he slowly fed dry grass into the processor. (Jennor. You know. Your...)

(Yes, I know,) I said. (She helped you. How?)

(Holographic emitters,) he said. (She freed one Andalite at a time, as Trylast, Isstarim, and I freed Hork-Bajir. It took months, and it should have taken longer, but the Empress filed Jennor down to a nub. You were what made her finally crack, you know.)

(Me?)

(It's strange, Aximili. You're more directly connected to this whole fiasco than you realize. You were the goal I had in mind when I organized it. And it was you that set off the final resistance.)

(How did...what did the Empress do to her? To you?)

(Everything. She did everything she possibly could. She should have killed you long ago, you see. That was all she needed to do. If you were dead, I wouldn't have been able to go on. I did not see that was true of Jennor as well until the end. I was a fool, but I was distracted. Yes, if she had killed you the day Jennor set hoof on this vessel, there would have been no hope. Jennor's drive is directly tied to your life, Aximili. If you had died, it would be like pulling the stopper out of a tub. You were what kept her going.)

(But I am not dead,) I laughed a little, nervously. (How did I set off the final resistance?)

(They were looking for you,) my Father said. (Isn't that what brought you here?)

I nodded, changing the containers for the puréed grass, feeling a cool rush of fear. (I left my Prince to come here. I abandoned the humans.)

(Then she means as much to you as you do to her.)

(What do you mean?)

(They could not find you, so they faked you. They used your personnel picture, or a sample of your DNA, or some combination of the two. They convinced her that they killed you. And I convinced her that they lied.)

I felt another shiver of fear, knowing now how vulnerable I'd been the last six months, how lucky it was that depression and spite had mostly kept me out of my Andalite form.

(She did this all for me?)

(Maybe not for you, but certainly because of you.) My father put the last of the grass in the processor and filled the last bag. (She loves you.)

I felt a little guilty, having forced myself to hate her for so long, to ignore the clarity of the reasons for her actions. She'd told me exactly why she'd revealed her true nature to me, and I couldn't accept it. She was a Hermilian, and the only reason I knew that was to protect me.

I glanced up at my father. (That may be true, but there is still much to discuss, is there not?)

My father sighed. (There is. But not now. I think we all need a full night's rest before we embark on that affair.)

I looked at my father for a long time. I'd nursed such a shallow contempt for him for so long, and now that I was aware of his depth, the pain he felt, the guilt and regret as powerful as my own, I felt foolish for the anger I'd permitted myself. He'd made mistakes, but that did not make him worthy of such disdain on my part. I felt another pang of guilt and looked away.

(We should help your mother and Trylast. There are a lot of hungry Andalites to feed.)

(What about her?) I asked, swiveling a stalk eye to the gurney protected by shimmery, pink walls.

(She's alive. And so are you. I'm not worried about her.)


	101. Chapter Thirty Five: Part Five

PART FIVE OF SEVEN

The next few days were tedious and stressful, but thankfully incident-free. After about eight more hours, we began rotating some of the older civilians out for short amounts of rest time. We found a few parcels full of Hork-Bajir nutritional supplement, but only enough to sustain them for ten days. They were willing to work, but difficult to instruct. I hadn't slept in days, but because of my skill at insomnia, and the amount of stimulation all of my tasks required, I wasn't tired.

I helped everywhere. Fed hosts when I could. Helped on the bridge when I could. Answered any questions Dorothen asked about Earth. He was actively planning an assault, and the more convinced about it he became, the more uncertain I did. I was still an outsider, but I'd gotten a good enough impression of this ship and its occupants. This was no military vessel. I'd gone through months of training before they even let me step upon a Dome Ship. This was a fluke. I was vaguely sure that this vessel could not win a space battle in Earth's orbit.

When I was overwhelmed, or tired, or given any amount of time to recuperate, I visited Jennor. Her gaunt, wax face slowly became an expected reality. I overcame the fear of breaking her. I touched her hand, thinking it would be brittle and stiff, but feeling the cold, normal human flesh I'd known. And how I'd missed it. It was different, but it was the same.

There were no chairs aboard the Dome Ship, so I lowered the gurney so I could sit on the soft, red grass and stroke her as I waited for her to wake up. Sometimes, when my mother would glance at me with pity and tell me to go check on her, I'd press my head against her slow-moving abdomen and sleep. The thermal blanket was cold, reflecting the Andalite air out as effectively as it reflected her body heat back in, and her abdomen was stiff and uncomfortable, but that was the only place aboard the ship I could find any respite.

Most of the Yeerks were dead. My presence was required less and less. Even my parents began to perform less necessary tasks, like autopsying the dead and filling out casualty reports. It had been nearly three days. There were only a few proud Yeerks left alive, and in their final moments they attempted violence and ostentation. With little else left to do, I finally decided to do what I'd put off and contact Tobias.

I was on the bridge, using the secondary communications panel. The first was devoted to an uninterrupted datastream with Central Command. I inputted the 23-digit code that identified his transponder. It was 7:30 at night on a Tuesday on Earth. That was a time we had shared, watching his favorite television show on Earth, before my scoop had been destroyed. I hoped he would hear the indicator.

After two minutes, I considered giving up, but then I heard mumbling. (Didn't even tell me how to work this damn thing, doesn't realize that just because I've got Andalite blood doesn't mean...Ax? Is that you?)

(Tobias,) I sighed, overcome with a great deal of emotion. It had been less than a week, but I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him until that moment.

(Oh, it worked! Good. Hey. Sorry if you, um...wait. You're calling pretty fast. Did something go wrong?)

(Not at all. Everything is fine.)

(Jennor's okay?)

I did not know if verifying that would be an honest answer, so I said, (She is alive. And she was successful. She didn't need me.)

(So there are no more Andaltie Controllers? Besides Visser Three, anyway?)

(This ship is safe.)

(That's really good news. I was worried about you, you crazy kid. I miss you. It's not the same here without your blue presence to stir things up.)

(That is very kind, Tobias, though perhaps undeserved.)

(Huh?)

(I have...done something that I am not sure you will approve.)

(You didn't like, blow up Mars or anything, did you?)

(No, I have simply...I should start earlier. Your grandparents are aboard this vessel.)

(My...what?)

(It's a civilian vessel. They came here looking for me. They left Andal shortly after receiving news that Elfangor had died. I was not expecting them, and they were overwhelmed with the events that transpired here, and—)

(Ax, you're babbling. What did you do?)

(I told them about you.)

(I...oh. Well...hmm.)

(I hope you can forgive me.)

(Are they mad?)

(I am not entirely certain what their opinion is. My mother seems to be pleased, but there is little that displeases her. And my father...he seems to have accepted it.)

(I think I know Andalites well enough to know they have degrees of acceptance.)

(You do not have to meet them, if you are disinclined. I simply felt they deserved to know.)

Tobias was silent for a moment. (You did the right thing,) he finally said. (It's just kind of weird, I guess.)

(Would you like to meet them?)

(Yeah, of course. I'm just not sure...do they know what happened to me? I mean, do they know I'm a _nothlit_?)

(You're not.)

(Ax.)

(I did not mention that particular fact. I thought learning that their firstborn bred in an inferior, alien form was a sufficient first step.)

(Was that a joke, Ax?)

(My apologies,) I sighed, rubbing my eyes, glancing back at Trylast who had been glaring at me for a few minutes. (I suppose exhaustion has made me bitter.)

Tobias was silent again for a while, but then he began chuckling. (It's weird,) he said. (I always kind of feel like a perpetual black sheep. My family, the Animorphs. I don't know. It's funny that I keep getting second and third chances at family, but none of them are ever quite...right.)

(No family is ever "quite right," Tobias. I believe your expectations for normalcy are far too high.)

(Guess you've got a point. So you're headed back to Earth? When do you think you'll get here?)

(Within the week,) I said. (I am trying to convince the commander of this vessel not to engage in direct combat with Visser Three without further preparation, but he seems intent.)

(So not out of the woods yet, huh?)

I glanced out of the view screen. We were still orbiting Saturn, whose rings had formed a tumor where the Pool Ship had struck. I remembered that moment of indecision in stable orbit around Earth, wondering if going back was feasible, if retreat was the best option.

Earth had caused me grief and frustration for years. But at this moment, the woods were the only place I wanted to be.

(I suppose not,) I answered. (I will keep in touch. I will contact you tomorrow morning at 9:00, all right?)

(I'll be here,) Tobias said. (Get some sleep, Ax. You sound awful.)

(Good night, my _shorm_,) I said as I clicked off communications. I continued rubbing my eyes, suddenly aware of how tired I really was, and headed out of the bridge to reconvene with Jennor for a brief period.

Trylast intercepted me just as I was about to leave.

(I need to apologize,) he began. (I haven't been...I mean, we've all been—)

(I accept your apology.)

(Would you let me finish? You inherited your father's sense of undue entitlement, you know.)

I sighed and narrowed my eyes at him in some mixture of apology and impatience. He refused to make eye contact with me.

(Your parents indicated to me that you were on the _GalaxyTree_. With your brother.)

(Yes.)

(So...you know what happened to everyone aboard?)

(The _GalaxyTree_ was destroyed, I'm sure you're aware.)

(Yes, I know that. But you survived.)

I narrowed my eyes at him. He still wasn't looking at me, staring at the grass, swinging his stalk eyes around in shame, like a child accused of some mild indiscretion. He plucked a few hairs from his back but then shook his hand free of the act.

(Is there someone specific you have in mind?)

Then he looked at me. And for a short moment, I recognized the look. A look of complete disclosure. Sick fear, heartache, and hope wrapped inside an exo-skeleton of resolve and strength, big eyes revealing a vulnerability so shameful that I almost felt responsible for him. This is what lived inside of him, what all of that sarcasm and harshness defended against. A prickle of fear crawled down my neck. He blinked the look away, composed himself, and spoke.

(Prince Federat-Nirdin-Osgiliath,) he said. (Did you know him?)

It was my turn to look away. I had known Federat. He had been one of the only ranking officers apart from Elfangor who did not treat me like some piece of inconvenient scum caught on the bottom of his hoof. We hadn't played weekly driftball matches or anything, but he'd acknowledged me consistently. I'd liked him.

(I'm afraid I do know what happened to Federat,) I said. (I was in the Dome throughout most of the battle, but I heard much of what transpired. Federat's fighter was destroyed somewhere in Earth's ionosphere. I do not believe any of his wreckage was recovered, either by Andalites or humans.)

Trylast covered his chin with his hand and waved his stalk eyes. It seemed he was one small breeze from crippling entirely. I wasn't sure how to act. If I should do anything.

(It was for nothing, then,) he sighed, turning away.

I grabbed his arm, a futile human gesture, and stared at him hard. (It was not for nothing.)

(I don't care that yours survived,) he hissed. (Mine didn't. I'm halfway across the galaxy from home and now I'm all alone. There is no hope left. There is nothing.)

I should have been disgusted by his all-but admission of deviance. I was surprised that he was so open, for that kind of honesty, under normal circumstances, would have gotten him arrested, perhaps even killed, by a sufficiently aggravated group of vigilantes. But I was not interested in punishing him because I no longer thought he was delinquent. His love was different, but no less real. And wasn't I now a deviant too? _Vecols_, Hermilians, homosexuals. Wasn't there something wrong with all of us?

(If not for you, Jennor would be dead. Is this not true?)

He glanced up at me, grief bubbling over. (It didn't matter. Keeping her alive changed nothing.)

I shook my head. (You saved her. It was not for nothing. I owe you my life, Warrior,) I said.

He sighed and wiped his eyes. (I'm no warrior. I design children's toys. Federat was the warrior, the one who wanted to die for his people rather than living for me. Tell your parents not to bother me unless absolutely necessary. I don't want to see anyone for a while. Ever again if that were possible, but it's not, so I'll take what I can get.)

I saluted him as he lurched away.

The walk back to sick bay was heavy and uncomfortable. Trylast's loss had affected me deeply. The universe was apathetic to love, it was not a power that could avert the forces of death and destruction. His affair had been terminated by the war, and mine hadn't, and why? There was no supernatural force protecting anything, luck had been on my side, and not his. It was all a game of probabilities and likelihoods. I had forgotten how real a fear losing her had been, how real it still was. She was safe for now, but what about the upcoming battle for Earth? She and I were both still warriors. The universe would not discriminate. I could still lose her. It could be just as easy and anticlimactic.

I entered the medical bay. My parents had retreated to their quarters for the night. The lights were out. I did not reengage them. I headed to the gently glowing energy curtains, stepped through, and morphed.

I knelt beside her for a while. She'd adjusted her position since I'd last left, now resting her head against a folded arm. That was a good sign. I'd allowed myself the indulgent fear that the psychological trauma from her ordeal would put her into some kind of stress coma. Even though she was alive, she'd be dead. I was still so scared of losing her. Of what parts of her had already been lost.

I dug through the backpack I'd retrieved from the Bug Fighter, found a package of crackers, and opened it. I'd meant to save all of the food for her, but I was hungry and needed some kind of cheap, physical comfort. I quickly ate one, allowing it to dissolve in my mouth, and plucked another from the package, holding it to her nose. Her nostrils dilated and she turned away. Good. Still responsive to external stimuli. My chest relaxed in exhaustion and hope.

The hood from her sweatshirt had slipped from her head. I pulled it up. Convinced myself it was to keep her warm, and not to cover the ugly bald patches interspersed with pathetic chunks of uneven, short, ugly hair. I stroked her face, sat on the ground, wrapped my arm around her hip, and lay upon her sharp pelvis.

I'd only just drifted off to sleep when I felt something stroking my hair. I opened my eyes. She was propped up a little, resting on an elbow, watching me distantly, unengaged. She was awake.

I only stared for a few moments. Allowed her to continue stroking me. She reached forward and held my hand.

"Jennor—"

"No," she whispered, and now I saw thick saliva behind her dry, cracked lips. "Say nothing. Do nothing. Just sit."

I'd never been very good at obeying her. A rush of emotion overtook me and lifted me up. I enveloped her, pulled her into a sitting position, and began to cry. Her arms folded awkwardly up into her body, but she bowed her head into my shoulder. I held her for a few moments, more overcome than I could have expected, as she vaguely squirmed either to pull away or get comfortable.

I held her back for a moment, gazing into her eyes, trying to ascertain what she wanted. She looked so tired and sad, I could think of only one thing.

I leaned forward and kissed her.

Her hands turned outward and curled into my chest. She exhaled deeply through her nose and began to kiss me back. When she broke the kiss for breath, I inhaled a gust of it and realized what her mouth tasted like, besides three-day old, rotting saliva.

The salt and iron taste was unmistakable now that it hit the air. I pulled away from her and cupped her face in a hand, dipping my thumb beneath her bottom lip. It was dark in sick bay, everything already sheathed in low, pink lighting, but my finger came back covered in a thick, diluted mixture of saliva and blood.

I was shaking, and accidentally smeared some of it on her face. She watched me pleadingly, shaking her head almost invisibly.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"Just sit," she whispered so quietly it sounded like a hiss. "Just sit."

I pulled her close and pressed my cheek to her forehead, tears still streaming down my face. She said nothing, made little movement, almost no noise. Before long, her arms slid out from between us, behind my back, and they were cold. I winced and adjusted, pulling the blanket over my legs and shoulders, settling in beside her on the narrow gurney.

(You're tired,) she said, facing me, mercifully breathing through her nose. (You could have slept.)

"What happened to you?"

She smiled and pressed her cold, bony hand against my face. (Sleep, Aximili. Now it's your turn.)

She wrapped her baggy arms around my head and pulled it close against her chest. I was trembling with excitement and fear and nausea, but her grip was steadfast and determined, and I had no choice but to succumb.


	102. Chapter Thirty Five: Part Six

PART SIX OF SEVEN

After what seemed like seconds, I heard the doors to sick bay open. I opened my eyes. The Elder sun had not yet risen, but its rays disrupted the dark red of night into pink and orange and yellow. I turned to Jennor. She was shivering around me, her eyes shut tight. I scrambled down off the gurney and adjusted the blankets around her before my mother stepped into view.

(Aximili,) she said slowly, stalk eyes traveling between the gurney and me. (How long have you been like that?)

"I—" I tried to pull away from Jennor, but she had clutched my hand in both of hers.

"Don't leave me," she said through clenched teeth, eyebrows furrowed, hands shaking. I stared at her for a while before glancing at my mother, who was getting impatient, and then my father stepped into the room.

(How long have you been in morph?) He repeated unnecessarily.

Carefully, I peeled Jennor's hands from mine. She continued clutching me, but I wrapped each of her wrists in my hands and folded them into her. (I'm not going anywhere,) I promised her. She coughed a sob through her teeth and a long, yellow strand of saliva and mucus clung to her lips. I tried not to sneer as I turned to my parents.

(Almost two hours,) I said to them both. (Thank you for waking me.)

(Why are you lying to us?) My father asked. I gazed at him as I began to demorph.

(What makes you ask that?)

(He's an adult now, Noorlin, he can lie to us if he wants to.)

(I'm obviously not lying.)

(She's been human for three days, son, and you have not shown a speck of concern.)

I glanced down at her. She'd pulled the drawstring tight, wrapped herself tightly in a blanket, and turned away, shivering.

(Oh.)

(So it is not magic, it is not a different Escafil coefficient for Hermilians or anything else. You share her gift.)

I glanced up at him. (What time is it?)

(0543, why?)

I did the conversion quickly in my head and realized I had to contact Tobias in less than three minutes.

(I have to go.)

(Son,) my father said, stepping forward. (Just...explain it to me one day, all right?)

I looked down at Jennor again. She was still weeping. I knelt beside her and put my hand on her back. (I have to contact Tobias,) I said to her. (I'm not leaving the ship, and I'll be back soon.)

(You're not,) she said. (You'll never be.)

I gulped down my concern and turned away. My parents had heard her and shared my look of distress.

(Don't let anything happen to her,) I said.

(Aximili,) my mother said. (Tell the boy...just tell him that we don't care. About what he is or anything he's done. In most reasonable species, love outweighs any societal obligations. Tell him we're a reasonable species.)

I glanced back at Jennor, and my mother nodded. I smiled and kissed her.

(He wants to meet you, Mother. You have nothing to worry about.)

I contacted Tobias, who summarized a meeting he had called with the other Animorphs shortly after I'd contacted him. He admitted they were partly thrilled and partly dubious about the fact that Andalite reinforcements had finally arrived. He'd promised to distract the Yeerks in whatever way they could from their end. This gave me hope. It was often ridiculous, the amount of resources the Visser expended when confronted with six Andalite bandits. Well, five, but his overcompensation might prove to be enough for the _NovaBlade_ to mount a successful confrontation.

My conversation with Tobias lasted about a half hour. By the time I returned to sick bay, everything had changed.

A line had formed outside, in the hallway. Eight or nine Andalites stood waiting. They seemed angered when I tried to walk in front of them.

(Dorothen has a list, you know,) one of them said to me. I glanced back at him.

(For what?)

(To pay respects. Get your name on it and you might get to see her before the end of the day.)

I was confused. I walked past them and ignored their protests.

The sterilization curtains were gone. Jennor was seated upright on the gurney, hood pulled tight over her face, arms crossed. Dorothen stood before her, stalk eyes rolling and twitching in frustration. Even his tail reacted violently. Trylast was in the room as well, talking to my parents. No one paused when I entered the room, but Jennor looked over pleadingly.

(I understand your recovery has not been easy, but it's been three days and they won't relent.)

"Give them whatever they want, Dorothen."

(Despite my best efforts to mislead them, they have deduced that I am not in charge, and am in fact, as they put it, "nothing more than a tail blade with peasant legs." I've already implicated you, and you are what they want. You must appease them.) I didn't know what they were talking about, but I took this as my cue to find out.

(Prince,) I said to Dorothen. (I have news from Earth.)

(Very well, Aximili. Can it wait a moment?)

"I won't talk to them."

(There is no choice, Jennor. They know I'm dodging. They want to talk to you.)

"Tell them you did it. You did everything that mattered."

Dorothen drew himself close to her. He stood above her, gazing down at her with what should have been belittlement, but there was an air of reverence in the way he held himself.

(Sir, I don't understand why you want me to have this, but if I could take this away from you, I would. Please understand that. I would not have come to you for this if it wasn't extremely urgent. I understand you're hurt. But you're not done yet.)

Jennor pulled her drawstrings tighter and pulled her knees into her chest.

(What's going on?) I asked her privately.

(The Electorate wants to speak to me,) she replied.

I glanced at Dorothen. He was now looking at me as if I could convince her.

(What news from Earth, Aximili?) Dorothen sighed in temporary surrender.

(The resistance there has agreed to form a diversion for our attack,) I said. (Just let me know when you plan to act and I'll relay the message.)

(Talk some sense into her, all right?) He said to me privately.

(Why doesn't she want to speak to them?)

(Because she knows they'll attribute credit,) he sighed. (And she doesn't want it.)

I felt something like a cold knife slide through my chest. I hadn't even thought of that consequence, nor could I imagine why she refused it. I watched her with my stalk eye and her brow continued to furrow.

(Why won't you take it?) I asked Dorothen. (If she doesn't want it, that leaves an opening for you.)

(Because it's not mine,) he responded. (It's time for the young to support this monstrous war now. They had my service for sixteen years, and they had my sons' service for eight more, and both of them are gone. I won't let them entangle me in their vicious web again.)

(Perhaps she feels the same way,) I said. (All she's done for them, and what have they done for her? Broken her, emaciated her. They've stripped her completely.) I felt my hooves clench shut.

(Yes. What has happened to her is unfortunate.)

I turned all of my eyes to him, filled suddenly with fury. How dare he summarize her with so little empathy?

(You don't know what she's been through.)

He narrowed his eyes at me. (I know better than you do, son.) He looked disappointed, but slumped in understanding. He left.

I watched him leave, turning back to Jennor once the door had shut.

(What was that about?)

"Do you remember, Aximili," she said to me slowly, through the fabric, in a shivering, fetal ball. "When we went to the mall and paid to see the human cinematic feature about the compromised military vehicles rigged to explode?"

(Yes,) I said tentatively. (You over-buttered the popcorn.)

"I bought that popcorn with a ten dollar bill. The cashier gave me thirteen dollars in change."

I rubbed the back of my neck. Perhaps she was not as mentally stable as I had hoped.

"I knew the right thing to do. I knew I should give back the ten dollars to remedy the mistake. But I did not. I thought I would keep it, do something kind for you. Perhaps buy you a Cinnabon later. I thought that was better, even though it was against the rules."

(What happened to you, Jennor?) I asked, kneeling beside her, touching her arm.

"The universe keeps giving me too much change," she said, eyes lighting up, laughing. "And I don't know how to give it back."

(Perhaps the universe is simply refunding what it stole,) I said. (It's taken more from you than you account for.)

"No," she whispered, rubbing her eye with her fist. "Everything that has happened to me was a drawn out journey to Earth. It was all a necessary series of events to deliver me to you."

I didn't know how I felt about that, and I didn't want to talk about it anymore, so I delved beneath the gurney where I had stored my backpack.

(Now that you're conscious, I think it's time to start working on healing you.)

"How long do I need to convalesce?" she whispered, laughing distantly to herself.

I smiled at her. (That all depends on you, Jennor.)

The seal would have been too tight to break with my weak Andalite hands, but I'd loosened it earlier, just in case. I held the jar beneath the gurney, so she could not see. I wanted it to be a surprise.

If I'd been in human form, the smell would have been irresistible. It was nothing to my Andalite senses. I dipped my fingers inside, scooped up a gob, and smiled. (Close your eyes,) I instructed. She looked sad and confused but obeyed.

I pressed my clean hand against her rubbery face in a kiss and raised the other to her nose. She inhaled sharply.

(Aximili, stop!) I spun a stalk eye to see Trylast barreling toward me, my father not far behind. Jennor's eyes had opened and seemed like they'd been born to horror. Her feeble hands, still stronger than my own, pushed me away, grabbing my hand, my face, slapping and incoherent. Some of the peanut butter smeared onto her before I rose to my hooves and allowed Trylast to intervene.

(What—) was the only thing I managed to say before Jennor became violently ill, gagging and dry heaving, shuddering, waves of nausea crashing through her, making her flail like a dying fish. Her spasms were violent enough to throw her from the gurney, on the ground, and she smeared the leftover peanut butter on the grass as my father tended to her, wiping the remainder away, turning her as far from the smell as he could.

(Close that,) Trylast said to me, and I capped the peanut butter and stored it away. My hands were shaking. I stared at the ground for a moment before turning my stalk eyes up to him.

(What did they do to her?) I asked him.

(She's probably thirsty. She can still drink water. Go get some from your mother and wash your hands.)

I turned from him, watching Jennor with my stalk eyes, listening to her gags and coughs as my father tried to settle her, holding some sort of smelling salt beneath her nose.

(There is no worse feeling than trying to help someone and hurting them instead,) my mother said, wiping away the leftover residue from my hands with a towel. (She will be all right.)

(If someone had just told me...you all knew how to react, you knew what would happen! Why didn't you tell me?)

(Aximili, if this still isn't clear to you, let me explain. Trylast, your father and I are very uncomfortable with what has transpired on this ship. We ourselves are still recovering from most of the events. The battle itself was...well, let me say that I respect your choice more than ever. But the battle was nothing compared to what led up to it. The things they did to your father and Trylast are enough to make your blood run purple. But the Yeerks' vendetta against them was not personal. They hurt her, Aximili. They hurt her very badly, just so she'd suffer, just for their own amusement. To be any more specific than that seems like treason, or surrender, or...) she trailed off, handing me a plastic receptacle full of water. (Your father and I want your happily-ever-after as much as you do, son. Perhaps we thought allowing you to believe it would still be easy was the more humane thing to do. But it's not, is it?)

I raised my hand to my nose and sniffed, detecting none of the smell anymore, but uncertain as to how much would set her off again. (I can accept whatever this new reality is,) I said, trying to be brave, realizing that I wasn't sure I believed it. (But I need to know what it is before I can accept it.)

A look of pity came over my mother's face again. (We should have told you about the human food,) she said. (They conditioned her to hate other things, too, but that conditioning does not seem to have been as effective. Give her the water. She can drink the water. Continue to act as you are. She's more serene than I've seen her.)

I returned to the gurney. Jennor was not there. I felt her in my heart now, and realized that she had demorphed. I walked behind the gurney, towards the back of sick bay. My father was injecting her with some anti-anxiety medication.

(I'm sorry,) I said to her. (I got you some...) I stepped in front of her and placed the water on the ground. She placed her hoof over it, broke the seal, and quickly ingested the contents.

(Don't apologize,) she said as my father covered the entry site with a piece of gauze before closing it with a dermal regenerator. (When I don't taste it, I still like it. Don't look so worried, Aximili. Things are so good right now.) She touched my shoulder and left the medical bay.

(You sent her somewhere like that?)

(She agreed to speak to the Electorate. I thought it would be better for her to do it calmly.)

I rubbed the back of my neck and looked at him again. He gazed back and sighed.

(A grandson and a daughter-in-law,) he sighed with a scoff. (I gained more on this trip than I set out to.)

(You've decided to—)

(Your mother will never let me deny you her,) he laughed. (Forlay used to be so quiet and submissive. I think I like her better this way. If something goes wrong, I can just blame her.)

(Nothing will go wrong,) I said too forcefully, only realizing I was reassuring myself as well as him after I'd said it. He smiled.

(I know, Aximili. Congratulations.)


	103. Chapter Thirty Five: Part Seven

PART SEVEN OF SEVEN

An hour later, Jennor had still not returned. I poked my head outside of sick bay, noticing that the line of people had disappeared. I walked to the Bridge, reuniting with Dorothen in the process.

(Call your friend,) he instructed me. (We're moving forward with the plan in six hours.)

(Very well, sir.)

I walked to the communications panel and called Tobias. Thankfully, he was expecting my call, and he was in the middle of a meeting with the Animorphs when he took it. Since he was the only one in morph, however, I could only speak to him.

(Everyone says "hi," Ax. And Marco thanks you, once again, for the beer.)

(Dorothen has decided to enter Earth's orbit in six hours. Please mount whatever diversion you have planned at that time.)

(Jake wants to know exactly where in orbit this Dorothen plans to appear.)

(I've given him the coordinates of your location. I believe he intends to send a contingent of fighters to intercept you once our orbit is secure.)

(Will you be on board?)

(I can relay any orders from my prince to Dorothen. He will respect them.)

(Jake says he orders you to come down.)

(Very well.)

(We'd also like, you know, whatever weapons and stuff you can spare.)

(Tobias, please trust that I will bring whatever resources with me that I can. Unfortunately, we are, once again, now under the jurisdiction of Andalite law and order.)

(Things are about to get heady, aren't they?)

(I do not know, Tobias. I only know they will never again be the same.)

There was silence on the other end for a while. (We'll see you soon, Ax. And, hopefully, Earth's salvation, too.)

I clicked the communicator off and stared at the blank screen for a while. It hadn't struck me until that very moment how true my last statement was. Tobias and I would never again spend our days watching soap operas and learning about each other's cultures. The Animorphs would probably never spend their days in school, learning things that truly didn't concern them. Earth itself would be awakened to the reality of extra-terrestrial life. I could not go back to that lumpy futon and long, sunny, intimate afternoons. I could not go back to wiping frosting on her lips just so I could kiss it away, or waking up nestled in that peaceful valley between her legs and breasts. The happiness I had worked so hard to attain was over. I hoped most of it would transfer, but I wasn't sure that the exchange rate was in my favor. Jennor herself might not be the same.

I decided it was finally time to confront that fear.

(Where did she go?) I asked Dorothen, who had taken the Captain's position on the Bridge.

(She said she needed some fresh air and sunlight. I assumed that meant the Dome, but then she said something about "Miller Lite" and mouth sex and she sort of lost me.)

I thanked him and hurried to the Dome.

The Dome had changed significantly, like everything else, since I'd last been inside of it. Most of the Yeerk Pool sludge had been cleared away, and many Andalites, probably distressed and in need of distraction, had already taken to resodding the landscape. The river was still being flushed of waste. The Dome itself had been polished, the pressure crack reinforced with sheets of hull cement. There were a few Andalites milling around, pointed in one general direction. I followed their gaze.

Jennor was standing at the edge of the Dome, gazing out unnaturally with all four eyes, arms folded neatly behind her back.

I walked over slowly, through the throng of people, only realizing when I'd almost reached her that this was the same group that had been waiting outside of sick bay. The same ones who had been waiting to thank her.

I stopped in front of them, a safe distance from her. She didn't turn her eye to view me, but I could feel her so clearly inside of myself that I knew she could sense me as well. I felt a storm of fear, stress, and more negative emotions than I could name settle as I closed the distance, and a warm sense of comfort and familiarity blanketed her.

I wanted more than anything to ask her, once again, what had happened to her, but the feelings that seeped inside of me seemed to answer the important aspects of that question.

(Are you all right, Jennor?)

(No, Aximili.)

I paused for a moment and almost turned away, but instead, I looked at her more closely. I hadn't noticed, but her Andalite form had not deteriorated as her human morph had. In fact, she looked better than ever. Months of Andalite grass and the correct air composition had returned a healthy glow to her complexion, a shine to her fur. It brought me back to the night she had crash-landed. I remembered how clear her beauty was even then, through coagulated blood and broken bones. None of that had mattered. I'd been able to see past it, through the scum and filth, to the truth beneath. But now, lit by the same wavelength and intensity as the Andalite moons, drenched in the kind of conditions that should have made her look perfect, I could see nothing but an injured, broken girl.

(Tell me what to do,) I said.

(At this point I can only advise you to save yourself,) she said darkly. (I do not believe I can return from what I have done.)

I felt my chest tighten in epiphany. I had been asking the wrong question. What had been done to her was only part of this nightmare.

(Whatever you have done was in the service of the war, Jennor,) I said. (It will be absolved.)

(Perhaps. But never by me.)

(What have you done, Jennor?)

Her stalk eyes dipped, and she bowed her head.

(Have your parents begun preliminary autopsies on those who did not survive?)

I watched her carefully, uncertain as to where she was heading, but I felt a deep swell of despair run between her and me.

(Yes. On a few of the victims.)

(Terenia?)

I looked down. I'd wanted to keep this from her. I didn't understand why Jennor had decided to kill her friend, and I did not want to revisit it. Particularly because of this terrible fact.

(Yes. They are still in the preliminary stage, however.)

(Was she pregnant?)

I felt my chest tighten again. I wouldn't tell her. I couldn't...but then I remembered that she could feel me just as intensely as I felt her. Perhaps moreso.

Jennor shifted her weight onto her right hooves. I watched her warped reflection in the Dome Ship glass. Some dark smile rested in her stalk eyes.

(What are your opinions on murder, Aximili? Do you believe it can be justified?)

(War is not murder, Jennor. War is war.)

(Yes, I know. I have committed many acts of violence that I believe can be justified because they took place in a war. But many of them cannot be.

(Tuxebi was the first Andalite I ever killed. My first victim who did not fight under the opposing flag. I do not consider his death a murder. He was trying to kill me. It was self-defense. As I replay that moment in my mind, I can see no other option. I made the right choice. And even though it can be justified, it crossed a line. I killed an Andalite. A brother. An ally. But I did not murder him.

(I did not butcher another Andalite until Isstarim. He is more difficult to justify. He was a friend. A very kind, important ally. But he was dying, he was weakened...if I had let him live, he would have ruined this entire operation. His knowledge would have become the Yeerks', and we would have lost. He asked me to do it. It was mercy. Euthanasia. He forgave me. We agreed. I performed the act, but he commissioned it. Is that murder?)

(Jennor, don't think about the atrocities of the past, don't—)

(Then there is Vaxidun,) she said, smiling strangely in the Dome. (There is no possible way to justify that death. That was anger. That was spite. That was revenge. That was not mercy or self-defense.)

(He was infested,) I said. (He was not under our flag.)

(Yes he was,) Jennor countered. (Vaxidun worked to reunite families. Vaxidun had a family. Two daughters, a wife. Vaxidun was an ally. And I decapitated him.)

(But his Yeerk—)

(His Yeerk died only because she loved him,) Jennor said. (I did not fight him in the heat of battle. I did not kill him for the right of any species to freedom, for ground, or for any other honorable reason. I killed him because I thought she killed you, and I wanted her to suffer like I did.)

Some hard, cold feeling like fear rose up inside of me. Jennor's eyes narrowed as she felt it empathetically. She continued.

(Both Vaxidun and Nagrit make me a murderer,) she said. (And if a murderer kills a grown man, what kind of monster butchers a girl and her unborn child?)

I didn't know what to say, so I had no choice but to let her continue.

(I can't justify it, Aximili. There's no way I can validate my action. I've tried, believe me, I have. There are ways to kill pregnant girls without earning such unforgivable blame. If I hadn't known, if she hadn't told me...But I knew. She did tell me. And even that is forgivable, because she lied about everything else.)

(Then don't—)

(But I _knew_,) Jennor said. (I replay that moment in my brain, when she told me...I felt such a cold knowledge come over me. I knew she was telling the truth. At first I wasn't sure how, but the more I replay it, the clearer it becomes.

(Your mother has told me some interesting things over the past few days. One striking example is that you had to morph me in order to perform a safe blood transfusion, is that true?)

I did nothing except let the feeling of agreement wash through me and into her.

(You saw things, then, the way I see them. You could sense people's emotions, motivations, and judgments. That is all gaudy and overwhelming, but there is something else you could sense, too. Something I'd forgotten about.

(For there to be emotion, motivation, and judgment, there has to be identity. Some invisible force of origin and power to create those things. Controllers are difficult to read because there are two sets of everything, and neither ever has total control. Sometimes you will see the fear and disgust of the host as you see the drive of the Yeerk to kill you. It is unsettling and perverted. Two identities, wrestling for control. I saw two identities then, Aximili. I saw Terenia and I saw the Empress. But what I only realized recently is that I saw a third as well.

(It was quiet. Incomplete. Transient and ephemeral. Loose and unfastened. But it was there.

(I knew she was pregnant because I sensed the fetus. And I didn't kill her despite the fact she was pregnant. I feared so deeply, and now I believe, that I killed her because of it.

(It made so much sense when I did it. I could not allow evil to survive. I'd been given an opportunity to destroy it once and for all, and I had to. Like amputating a gangrenous limb. Grotesque, yet necessary to preserve life. To preserve goodness.

(But that evil did not disappear. It just relocated, infecting me. I don't know how else to explain thinking killing a pregnant girl is an act of goodness. I know I'm a murderer, Aximili. That much is decided. And someone who kills a pregnant girl, even if they don't know her, even if they don't know that she's pregnant, is a monster. But I knew Terenia. I loved her. I wanted to save her, to protect her as she had protected me. And I killed her instead. So the real question, and the scariest one to answer, is what does that make me?)

It was a scary question. But the answer was staring right at her.

(A hero,) I said quietly. Jennor finally snapped her stalk eye around to glare at me, and I would have expected no less, and in fact much more, if I had been joking. It only took her a moment to see that I wasn't.

The eight or nine Andalites that had been waiting outside sick bay had been joined by nearly twenty others. All were standing at attention. And most were saluting.

Her stalk eye swiveled back. I stepped forward now, standing beside her. The _NovaBlade_ was traveling toward Earth at an impressive speed, and it spun into view, a distant, blue marble with the apostrophe of the moon hanging above it.

(I want to go home, Aximili,) she said quietly to me.

(I know, but I'm afraid that isn't possible. We have to return to Earth.)

Her stalk eye turned to me, expressing a sorrow and regret beyond what I could feel stirring inside of her.

(Earth is what I meant.)

I reached across her back and pulled her close arm toward me. I gripped her cold hand tightly, letting go of the aversion and disgust, encouraging affection to replace it. Jennor sensed my acceptance. It filled her with a quiet, vague hope that she didn't feel she deserved.

Her head tilted and rested against my shoulder. We stood and watched for hours as Earth grew from a tiny marble into a model globe, into an impressive planet. We stood and watched as the clarity of our future became apparent, as the world below us became detailed. And I held her, knowing that though she'd be the one standing before her people as their greatest support, she wouldn't be the only thing holding them up.

THE END

* * *

**FINAL** **A/N: First of all, thank you so much everyone who read this behemoth, and especially those of you who reviewed. It's awesome that you guys liked the story enough to stick with it, but my gratitude to those of you who commented on what parts of it you liked, what parts you didn't, what parts that touched you, disgusted you, confused you, and pissed you off, is endless. Thank you so much for all of your support; it definitely encouraged me to finish this whenever I felt unmotivated or unconfident about whether it was worth posting at all.**

**I guess a few notes: When I made my profile, my one goal was to post this thing in its entirety. Now that I've met that goal, I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do. It's kind of a neat feeling, having no obligation, being able to do whatever strikes my fancy. I definitely want to write more, and I've got a couple of ideas I still want to develop for this fandom, but at the same time, the dreaded influence of Real Life has reared its head recently, and I kind of want to work on original stuff, too. I'm not sure what's going to happen from this point forward.**

**One thing I'm definitely interested in pursuing, however, is a sequel to this. I know I left you guys with a lot of questions, and I hate when stuff I read/watch does that to me. At this point, I can make no promises. I started writing this with a sequel already in mind, but it is nowhere near as complete in my brain as this was when I started. I had this thing planned out, scene-by-scene, before I even sat down to start writing it in the summer of 2008 (!!), and I wrote the whole thing and second-drafted half of it before I even started posting it here. So, based on that, it's going to be a long time before I start posting any kind of continuation. Especially since I was not fully employed throughout a long portion of that time.**

**So, here's my plan—if I get to the point where I write a sequel, am mostly happy with it, and plan on posting it, I'm revisiting this first. Not to edit or update it, but to add an epilogue which I could have posted immediately, but I figured you guys would hate me for leaving you on ANOTHER cliffhanger, and to be perfectly frank, I want this story to be over until I decide to continue it. So if you would be interested in reading a sequel to this, here's my recommendation: put this story on alert. I know it's kind of stupid to put a story on alert after it's over, but that will let you know when I post the epilogue and that I am close to posting the sequel. Just a little heads-up, if/when that ever happens.**

**Right now, though, I think I'm going to take a break from fanfiction for a while, and pop my head into reality and see what's going on there. Of course, reality didn't satisfy me before this so it's very likely I'll be back soon. And, obviously, I am not immune to peer-pressure—if you want a sequel, let me know. I'm very susceptible to suggestion.**

**But once again, thank you guys so much for reading it, sticking to it, reviewing it, and recommending it when you did. I put a lot of work into this and I'm glad it touched you, even just a little. Validates my borderline-obsession with it, in a weird way. Anyway, I look forward to catching up on all of the stuff you guys have written, and I'm about 95% sure I'll see you all in the near future :) **


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